


In Good Company

by ariel2me



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-16
Updated: 2014-10-25
Packaged: 2017-11-16 10:59:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 97,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/538718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariel2me/pseuds/ariel2me
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU in which Stannis Baratheon stayed at King's Landing after Robert Baratheon appointed Ned Stark as Hand of the King.</p><p>Chapter 28: The Child</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Many, many thanks to xylodemon for the idea.

**Part 1: Beginning (In which Robert broke the news to Stannis that Ned Stark will be the new Hand of the King).**

The finality of death should have been old news to him, and yet it was a surprise each time. Something to be learned over and over again. That the dead carried their anger, regret and forgiveness with them should not have been a mystery. And secrets. They carried their secrets to their tombs too.

 _When is a secret truly a secret? I know it too_ , Stannis thought.

 _When is knowing truly knowing? We still had doubts, Lord Arryn and I_ , he countered himself.

It was treachery, Jon Arryn's death. Stannis knew it the way he knew the gods were to blame for his parents' death. The fever took Lord Arryn so suddenly, some kind of poison must be the only explanation. But treachery by whose hand?

Cersei Lannister. Jaime Lannister. Trying to protect their secret.

 _But suspecting is not knowing_ , he reminded himself. And King's Landing was full of vipers, all with their own little birds scattered around the city.

_Am I in danger too? For what I know? Nay, for what I suspect._

Stannis had not lost another father with Jon Arryn's death. He was not Robert. Or Ned Stark. But it was a loss deeply felt nonetheless. The loss of a ... colleague? In all honesty, he did not know how to classify the relationship. They were two people who had worked closely together. Not only in the matter of The Secret, but for years before that, trying to keep the realm running while Robert drank and whored his way.

They were seven in the Small Council, and now they were six. It had not been easy for Jon Arryn, keeping the peace. Between the king and his two brothers on the council. Between the members of the council. And the worst of it was, the meetings were mostly prattles and worthless debates anyway, Stannis thought. _We did most of the actual work, Lord Arryn and myself._

"My lord," his preoccupation was interrupted by his squire.

"Yes?"

"His Grace the King requested your presence at his bedchamber, my lord."

"The king does not _request_ , Bryen. He commands."

"Yes, my lord. I beg pardon, my lord."

Stannis wished the boy was not so terrified of him. A nervous, error-prone squire was a sore trial to his patience.

Robert's bedchamber was a bustle of activities. Squires running in and out, carrying this and that. And packing. Where was Robert going? Stannis wondered. Surely this was not a good time for him to be leaving King's Landing, so soon after his Hand's death. And when he had not named a new Hand yet.

"There you are. Leave us. Go, go, quick." Robert motioned to his squires to leave. "You too, Lancel."

Cersei's cousin hesitated at the door. _Spying for the Queen, no doubt_ , Stannis thought. A glare from Robert sent Lancel Lannister scurrying out of the room, closing the door too loudly with a thud. Robert cursed at the noise.

"A Lannister as your Kingsguard, another Lannister as your squire. Will you appoint a Lannister as your Hand too, now that Lord Arryn is gone?"

Robert rolled his eyes. "Let's not do this again. Not now. I don't have time to repeat the same arguments over and over again."

"Are you leaving for somewhere? Is this really a good time? There is already so much uncertainty in the city, because of Jon Arryn's death."

Robert had the decency to look sheepish. "I know, I know. Can't be helped, I'm afraid."

Stannis waited for his brother to continue. _What could be so important?_ Robert's sense of priority was not very reliable, to say the least, in Stannis' opinion.

"I need you to chair the Small Council meetings while I'm gone. It should be Renly, by right, as Master of Laws and second-in-command to the Hand. But with him in charge, the meetings would probably last all day without anything being decided."

 _Why did you make him Master of Laws, then?_ The old resentment was rearing its head again.

"And have you told our brother this?"

"Couldn't you just tell him that this is my command?"

"And have him say he never heard you gave the command? He doesn't listen to me, you know that."

"Fine, fine, I will tell him before we leave. Oh why do the gods curse me with bickering brothers like the two of you?"

 _I often wonder myself_ , Stannis thought.

"Why is the trip so important? What's the purpose?" So much words being spoken, and Robert still had not told him the reason.

"We're riding to Winterfell." Robert's answer was curt.

"Winterfell?" Stannis was astonished. All the way to the North. A month journey. Two months to get there and back. And who knew how long Robert intended to stay at Winterfell.

"I know you have not seen Lord Stark in years, and with Jon Arryn's death, you might wish to ... commiserate together. But you could command him to come to King's Landing. Why must you go there yourself?"

Robert scoffed. "Lord Stark. Listen to yourself. Ned. He's Ned."

 _He's Ned to you. Not to me._ Stannis wondered what Robert would say if he had said this aloud.

Robert continued. "I mean to make him my Hand. It will take some persuading, he can be as stubborn as a mule."

It did not escape Stannis' notice that Robert was smiling when he talked about Ned Stark's stubbornness. As if he was remembering a fond and cherished memory.

_My stubbornness only ever brought frowns to his brows and plenty of yelling and shouting._

He struggled to remember what it was Robert had just said. Hand. Ned Stark as Hand of the King. But surely -

Robert had asked him to chair the Small Council meetings while he was gone. Stannis had taken that as a vote of confidence. As indication that ... that ...

He couldn't finish the thought. It was too devastating to contemplate. His own foolishness. Thinking that this once, his brother would see, would know, would understand.

He set the crushed hope and the disappointment aside. _I still have a duty to my brother, and to the realm. Ned Stark is the wrong choice, even if I am not in the picture._

"Ned Stark has not set foot in King's Landing in years. What does he know about being Hand of the King? About ruling?"

"So you have someone better in mind? Littlefinger or Varys, both of whom you despise and mistrust, and are always whining to me about. Or should I appoint my father-in-law? He was Hand of the King once, he had the experience, he knows the job. But I thought you're against increasing the Lannister's influence. Or what about our baby brother Renly? Who barely knows what he's supposed to be doing as Master of Laws. Should I make _him_ my Hand?"

"It didn't stop you from making him Lord of Storm's End," Stannis muttered.

"Will you stop complaining about that? It's been years. It's done." Robert's voice thundered.

"There are other people, besides the ones you mentioned," Stannis brought the conversation back on topic.

"Then who, brother? Who should I make my Hand, if none of these people is good enough?"

 _You know who_ , Stannis thought. _Surely you do, Robert. I've worked alongside Jon Arryn for years. Even you could not be this blind._

But Robert looked clueless. Or pretending to be clueless.

"I have worked alongside Jon Arryn all these years. I know what the job is."

Robert laughed. "You? The Master of Ships being Hand of the King? I'm sure you know all about building and maintaining my fleet, and fighting a naval battle. But running the realm as my Hand? I don't think so."

"And what does the Lord of Winterfell know about running the Seven Kingdoms?

"Well, the North is almost a kingdom by itself _._ We don't bother much about it, you know that. Ned runs it almost like his own fiefdom. He knows how to run a kingdom."

"Is it wise then, taking him away from there? His eldest son and heir is only what, fourteen? And Ned's lone surviving brother is in the Night's Watch. If, as you say, Ned governs the North on his own, and that's a complicated enough job to make him suited to be your Hand, wouldn't it be too complicated a job for a boy?"

Robert snorted. "Always with the logic. Always with the rules, and the laws. So sure of yourself. As if you're being completely selfless. When really you're just trying to make me choose you instead."

"I know the job."

"And you think you deserve it. Isn't that more the point? The way you thought you deserved Storm's End."

"I do. I have spent 15 years here helping Jon Arryn rule while -"

"While I drank and whored my way around. Yes, I've heard that lecture often. From you, and from Jon Arryn, when he got sick of you complaining to him about me."

 _Of course_ , Stannis thought, _he'd blame me for Jon Arryn scolding him too._

" _You're too hard on Stannis. You should appreciate what he does for you and the kingdom._ Those were his last words to me. And we argued. I didn't know he would die the next day. He was like a father to me, and his last words to me were about you."

"Is that why you will not name me your Hand?"

"No, Stannis, despite what you may think, I am not that petty. It's because a Hand needs to stroke a few ego. Other members of the Small Council, other lords. I don't have the time or the inclination to do that. Jon did that for me. You won't be able to. You don't know how to charm and convince people if your daughter's life depended on it."

"And Ned Stark does?" Stannis was skeptical, thinking of the Ned he knew from their few encounters.

"He can do it better than you. Or he can learn. And the lords do not know him, they won't have any preconceived notion about how he is, like they do with you. And he's much better company anyway." Robert laughed.

"I have missed him sorely." He continued. He was not looking at Stannis as he was saying this. "We had some good times together, at the Eyrie. Ned, Jon and me." Robert was nostalgic for old times, his eyes glazing over, not seeing his brother standing in front of him.

"And is that really a good reason to appoint him your Hand? So you can be with him like old times? Jon Arryn would have reminded you of your duty to the realm."

"Don't you dare use his name! He loved Ned like a son, he loved me like a son. He raised us like we're his own, like we're brothers. He would have approved of this, me and Ned, together again, just like old times. At the Eyrie, during the war. Ned, always by my side, having my back."

 _I held Storm End's for you for a year_ , Stannis thought.

"And if not for Ned, you and Renly and everyone at Storm's End would have been dead. You owe him your life," Robert continued.

 _We would have been dead long before Ned arrived if it wasn't for a certain smuggler._ Stannis did not say this to Robert. There was no point, he'd said it before, and Robert did not care.

"Do you still need me here?"

_Do you still want me here, now that you have your precious Ned?_

Robert snapped. "I'm not making Ned Master of Ships. What does that have to do with anything?"

That had ended the conversation. He was dismissed without ceremony, as Robert shouted for Lancel.

Later, he contemplated going back to Dragonstone. What prompted him to stay in the end was this bitter realization - there were only two people in the world who could convince Robert of anything. One of them was dead, another was coming to King's Landing. And Stannis had to be there to meet him when he arrived.

_Of course I have to stay. The truth is the truth. The law is the law. Robert must know. But not from my mouth, because he would never believe it._


	2. Arrival

**Part 2: Arrival**

Words. Words and more words. Chatter and prattle. Six people seated on the table, but by the sound of it, people could be forgiven for thinking it was a room filled to capacity, Stannis thought.

 _Why do some people seem to love the sound of their own voice too much?_ He shot a look at his younger brother, seated to his left. Renly did not notice and continued speaking.

 _What is he even talking about?_ Stannis had ceased paying attention a long while ago.

 _Focus!_ He admonished himself. _You’re supposed to be running this meeting._

The Small Council meetings had been a sore trial. More so than they were when Jon Arryn was alive. The meetings then usually consisted of everyone bickering and arguing with each other all the time, yet now it seemed as if they were all teaming up against him, arguing with him about everything.

_Well, they know this is only temporary, I will not be Hand of the King. Why would they listen to me?_

All except Ser Barristan Selmy. The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard sat silent and impassive as he always did, not speaking unless a question was directed specifically to him.

A question must have been directed to him now, since he started speaking. Stannis forced himself out of his reverie to listen.

 _At least there is still one person worth listening to in this council._ He did not include Grand Maester Pycelle in that category. Pycelle might not be as bad as Renly, Baelish or Varys in the prattling on department, but Stannis knew where his true loyalty lies. With the Lannisters. 

_Pycelle took care of Jon Arryn during his illness. Perhaps-_

Stannis’ thought was interrupted by Ser Barristan’s voice. “It is a most excellent idea, Lord Renly.”

 _Renly having an idea Barristan the Bold thought is an excellent one? Whatever could it be?_ Stannis was equal part surprised and curious.

“Don’t look so shocked, Stannis. Other people know how to appreciate my suggestions, unlike you. I was suggesting that the council sent an honor guard to meet Robert, Ned, and the rest of the party at the Trident, and escort them back to King’s Landing. A show of respect for our new Hand of the King. Ser Barristan agrees. What do you think?” Renly’s voice was equal part amused and mocking.

 _I don’t think much of the idea coming from you,_ Stannis thought. He wondered what was Renly’s true purpose. But if Ser Barristan thought it a good idea, perhaps there was no harm in it.

“Of course, Ser Barristan. You may take as many guards as you think are needed and ride out to meet them.”

Ser Barristan nodded at Stannis, and was opening his mouth to speak when Renly interrupted.

“I’m riding out with them too. There should be a representative from the council as well.”

“Ser Barristan is a member of the Small Council,” Stannis snapped.

“But he’s going as the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard,” Renly snapped back. Petyr Baelish looked up with interest.

 _Oh how he loves this, the Baratheon brothers at war with each other._ Stannis resolved not to give Petyr Baelish the satisfaction.

“If Ser Barristan has no objection?”

“No, I don’t, Lord Stannis. I would be honored for Lord Renly to ride out with us.”

Renly seemed infuriated that Stannis had asked Ser Barristan the question. But his frown turned into a smile as he asked a question of his own.

“What about you, dear brother? Will you ride out with us as well to meet them? Otherwise, Robert might think you’re still holding a grudge. Poor Stannis, still sulking after all these months.”

“Hardly sulking, only someone has to stay here and do some actual work, Renly.”

 _Not too cutting, is it?_ Renly’s smile did not fade.

“Well of course. How foolish of me. You must want to cherish your last few moments in charge before Ned gets here.”

Renly vexed him so. Stannis knew he can be just as cruel and cutting in his words to Renly, but his words never seemed to bother Renly much.

Robert had been gone for three months. Ravens after ravens were sent back to the castle, orders for Stannis and the Small Council. _Well, at least he’s thinking of the kingdom, and ruling,_ Stannis thought. Lady Arryn had left King’s Landing before Robert set out for Winterfell. She had left in secret, in the middle of the night, taking her son with her. Robert was furious, saying that Lysa was ruining a perfectly good plan for the boy, his namesake. 

“What plan?” Stannis had asked.

“Not your concern,” Robert had snapped.

Stannis cursed himself. He should have spoken with Lysa Arryn right after Jon Arryn’s death, to find out what she knew. He very much doubted that Jon Arryn had spoken to her about their suspicion. About The Secret. But she might know something about Jon Arryn’s death.

Could that be the reason for her fleeing King’s Landing for the safety of the Eyrie, so soon after her husband’s death? Did she fear for her safety, and her son’s safety? Because she knew who was responsible for Jon Arryn’s death?

Stannis had to admit to himself that he had put off talking to her because he was uncomfortable with Lysa Arryn. She struck him as a very strange creature. 

 _I am not uncomfortable with every woman. I do not find every woman strange._ He reaffirmed these things to himself from time to time, and yet never truly believed them. Was it only the same type of reticence towards every woman afflicting him when it came to Lysa Arryn? Or was it something entirely different? Something specific about Lysa Arryn? He could not say. His instincts failed him in this matter.

He wondered if that would turn out to be a huge mistake, not speaking to Lysa Arryn. _Should I write to her at the Eyrie? And say what, exactly?_

It was also possible that Lysa Arryn leaving King’s Landing had nothing to do with Jon Arryn’s death, Stannis thought. Perhaps Robert’s plan had something to do with fostering her son somewhere, and she wanted to keep the boy close to her. In that case, asking her questions about her husband’s death might only serve to put her and her son in danger. _  
_

So many possibilities. Stannis could not think clearly. His head was pounding. Not enough sleep, too much to do. Renly had said at one of the Small Council meetings that his jaw must be hurting more than usual with all the additional teeth grinding. That had been met with laughter from the others while Stannis sat stone-faced. But his jaw did hurt, more so than usual. He thought of getting something for the pain from the maester, but he knew someone in the council would find out. Most probably Varys from one of his little birds. He would not give them the satisfaction. He would rather endure the pain.

He tried to put Lysa Arryn out of his mind for the moment. Robert and Ned were arriving soon. Their arrival had been delayed, first by an accident befalling one of Ned’s sons, and then by Joffrey being injured during the journey.

Robert’s letters had been cryptic about these things, and the last one even more so. Something about a direwolf being killed. Direwolf? Stannis was amazed. He thought direwolves only existed in myths and legends.

As far as Stannis could piece together from Robert’s rambling letter, the Stark girls were unhappy about the death of the direwolf, Ned was unhappy because his daughters were unhappy, and even though Robert thought the whole thing ridiculous and the girls were being ridiculous, he didn’t like Ned to be upset. He wanted Stannis to instruct the palace maids to make extra efforts when decorating the bedrooms at Tower of the Hand that will be the girls’ rooms. Something to remind them of home. Of the north.

Stannis had relayed the instruction to the maids, only to be met with blank stares. They had never set foot in the north, in fact had never set foot outside King’s Landing at all. He cursed Robert and all his expectations. _Does he expect me to be a decorator too?_

Who should he ask? Maester Cressen wouldn’t know. Cressen was born and raised in King’s Landing, spent his youth at Oldtown to study to become a maester, and had lived his whole life since in Storm’s End and Dragonstone. Stannis wrote to Davos instead. Davos had been everywhere during his days as a smuggler.

Renly had arrived back in King’s Landing before the rest of the party. _Not much of an honor guard,_ thought Stannis. Robert had sent him away for laughing at Joffrey, according to Renly. And he was laughing now as he told Stannis of how Joffrey was bested by Ned Stark’s nine-year-old daughter in a fight.

But Renly was not laughing when he spoke of the butcher’s boy. Mycah. Renly had remembered the name.

“There is something really wrong with Joffrey. This … streak of cruelty and weakness. He will make a terrible king. Maybe if the Lannisters are not so influential.”

Renly was not wrong about Joffrey, Stannis thought. But he did not understand what Renly was getting at, about the Lannisters. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing. I was only musing aloud.”

Some glimmer of understanding started to take shape in Stannis’ mind. He was thinking of the Tyrells. Of late, he knew they had been giving loans to the throne as well. And he knew how close Renly was to Ser Loras Tyrell. Perhaps too close. A Tyrell power play? With Renly as their pawn? He couldn’t countenance it.

“There’s no point reducing the influence of one House only for another to gain ascendancy,” he said pointedly.

“Whatever do you mean, Stannis?”

“Don’t play coy with me, Renly. Did you forget? When we were starving at Storm’s End, Mace Tyrell was leading the troops besieging us. They were loyal to the Targaryens to the end.”

“So what? The Lannisters pretended to be neutral and refused to support Robert for the longest of time. Yet Robert ended up making Tywin Lannister’s daughter his queen.”

“They supported Robert in the end.”

“Oh sure, they killed the Mad King and Rhaegar’s wife and children. Very convenient for Robert.”

“What’s you point?”

“My point is, things happened during the war. It’s all forgiven and forgotten now. We should look forward, not back.”

“It’s not so easy for me to forget what we went through during the siege. All the dead on our side.”

“They died because you were stubborn.”

“Should I have given up? How would that have helped Robert?”

“Robert and Ned would have been victorious anyway, and Mace Tyrell would have given up Storm’s End in the end.”

“They feasted within the sight of our walls while we starved! Is that the kind of people you want to ally with?”

“That’s only war tactic,” Renly scoffed. “They were trying to reduce morale so we would surrender. Quite clever actually. Besides, the real cruelty was yours anyway. They were fighting an enemy, but you were cruel to your own people.”

“What?”

“Remember Ser Gawen Wylde? Our master-at-arms during the siege? And what you planned to do to him and the three other knights?”

“They were planning to surrender! It was treason. I had to punish them.”

“You were going to fling them over the wall with catapults! Take their heads, that’s fine. But what you planned to do, that was not a proportionate punishment.”

“A lesson had to be made,” Stannis said. “Or we would have others attempting the same thing. I had a duty to Robert. I promised him I would hold Storm’s End. And in the end I did not punish them in that way.”

“Only because Maester Cressen said we might have to eat the dead, so there’s no use wasting the meat by flinging them away. And Ser Gawen died anyway, as your prisoner.”

He had always known that Renly resented him for the sufferings they went through during the siege. It was not unusual for a little boy to blame the closest person at hand, the adult in charge. But the resentments had not abated with time, and age. And the depth of Renly’s anger and resentment towards him about the siege continued to surprise him.

“I did the best I could”, he said stiffly. “The best I knew how, under the circumstances.”

Renly stared at him, his expression softening. Was it pity he saw in his brother’s eyes? Stannis couldn’t bear it. He could not bear to be pitied.

“And Robert never cared a whit about it,” he continued. “He gave you Storm’s End, when it should have been mine, as the older brother.”

Renly’s expression grew harder. “Well, maybe he didn’t care because you holding Storm’s End meant nothing in the end. Just a stubborn boy playing to be a man. When the real men were off fighting the war. That’s why Robert wants Ned as his Hand now, not you.”

Stannis saw red and blurted out, without a second thought. “I notice he didn’t want you as his Hand either. If forced to choose between you, me and Ned, Robert will always choose Ned.”

He regretted saying that, the moment the words came out. Renly looked hurt. Stannis thought of that little boy following him around the castle, asking him constantly when Robert would be coming home. Renly asking Cressen to read Robert’s letters over and over again. Renly playing with the cook’s son, pretending that he was Robert coming home from the Eyrie, speaking in a booming voice to imitate Robert, giving the cook’s son a big hug, tousling his hair, making funny faces. All the things Robert would do during his infrequent visits home.

_All the things I didn’t do._

_We always know how to stick the needle to hurt each other in the worst ways, the three of us._

Renly’s hurt had turned to anger. Stannis could see it from the way he smiled. A bitter, mocking smile, one reserved only for Stannis.

“At least I never expected to get the job, or whined to Robert about not getting it. Oh yes, Robert told me all about it. He said he was not really looking forward to arriving back at the castle, being greeted with your discontented expression, and watching you treat Ned badly because you’re jealous. And probably trying to hinder Ned from doing his job.”

“I am a member of the council, I will do my duty.”

“And why should you despise Ned anyway? It’s not his fault Robert prefers him to you. In fact, now that I have seen him again, I think I prefer him to you too.”

“Why did you wish to see me anyway? To gloat about you and Robert preferring Ned?”

“No. Robert sent a raven. He wants to hold a tourney, to celebrate Ned’s appointment as Hand of the King.”

“Out of the question,” Stannis exploded. “The coffer is empty, the Throne is badly in debt as it is.”

“Shouldn’t that be discussed in the council? It’s not your decision anyway, now that Ned is here. Robert wants it to be discussed as soon as possible, before he arrives.”

“He’s not arriving with Ned Stark?”

“He’s taking the scenic route. After that unpleasant business with the direwolf, Robert is probably not comfortable riding with Ned. Don’t be gleeful, it’s only a temporary thing, they’re not breaking up,” Renly laughed. “The two of them have a stronger relationship than anything you ever had in your life with anyone.”

Renly being an inveterate gossip had its advantages, he always ended up telling Stannis things, probably accidentally.

“We better have the meeting as soon as Ned arrives,” Renly continued.

“No,” Stannis countered. “He will need some time to rest and arrange his household.”

Especially if there was tension with the daughters. Daughters. Robert’s letter only mentioned daughters. What about his wife, and younger sons? Did he leave them at Winterfell?

 _That is none of my concern,_ Stannis reprimanded himself. _Why should I care how Ned Stark arranges his household?_

They were interrupted by a guard, announcing Lord Eddard Stark’s arrival. Renly walked out to greet Ned. He turned around at the door, and smiled. 

“Coming, Stannis? Or are you not convinced you can keep the hatred and jealousy out of your face?”

Stannis gritted his teeth and followed Renly out.

Ned Stark did not look that different than Stannis remembered, the last time they met, nine years ago during the Greyjoy rebellion. He had taken Balon Greyjoy’s son as a hostage, Stannis remembered now. A ward, Robert had called it, but the implication was clear. Another rebellion and your son’s life is forfeited. A lad of ten then. Theon, his name was. He must be at Winterfell. With Ned’s bastard.

Renly greeted Ned effusively with an embrace, even though they had already met when Renly was with the greeting party. Ned returned the embrace, but his eyes were wary. And tired. He noticed Stannis standing behind Renly and smiled.

“Stannis. It’s been years.”

“Lord Stark,” Stannis nodded stiffly.

“You have not changed much.”

Renly laughed. “He used to have a lot more hair, Ned. Did you forget?”

Ned did not respond to that.

“Neither have you, Lord Stark,” Stannis replied.

“Ned, please. Has Robert … His Grace arrived yet?”

“No,” Renly answered. “But he did send a raven commanding us to hold a council meeting.”

Stannis caught a glimpse of one of the Stark daughters in the wagon. He had expected sad, inconsolable girls, based on Robert’s letter. But this girl, probably around his own daughter’s age, looked angry. Really angry. And sullen. Scowling. This must be the younger daughter, the one who bested Joffrey in a fight.

She spotted him watching her, and stared back at him. As if she was measuring him, judging him. This child. This little girl. Not shy or afraid at all. Their eyes locked for a long moment, neither giving way. Ned finally noticed.

“Arya! Stop staring at Lord Stannis. Come out and greet Lord Stannis and Lord Renly. Sansa, you too.”

The two girls came out of the wagon. They both curtsied. The older one curtsied in the proper way, but Stannis could see that Arya’s curtsy was too deferential and exaggerated to be real. She was making a mockery of it. This girl must be a handful, Stannis thought. He heard Renly praising them, but he didn’t pay attention to the words. The older girl seemed very taken with Renly, but that was normal. Renly’s charm and good looks reminded people of younger Robert. How many times had he heard that?

The younger girl was looking restless and impatient, her eyes wandering here and there. He thought of Shireen, tired after the long journey from Dragonstone to King’s Landing. But his daughter was always too shy and well-behaved to show any sign of restlessness.

_Or too afraid of me._

Ned was asking Renly about the council meeting. Stannis interrupted. “Perhaps you and your daughters would like to settle down first? You can call the meeting once you are ready. You are the Hand after all, it’s your prerogative. It’s not for any of us to order you around.”

Ned seemed taken aback. He looked at his daughters, however, and must have seen how exhausted they were.

“The guard will escort you to the Tower of the Hand,” Stannis continued.

Ned hesitated. “Is that … is that where Lord Arryn stayed?”

“Of course, he and his family. He was the Hand.”

“You don’t believe in ghost, do you Ned?” Renly asked, laughing.

“No, of course not,” Ned replied.

“Though I dare say if Jon’s ghost is haunting the Tower, he would be glad it is you occupying it now. He won’t bother you or your daughters. Now if it had been someone else there on the other hand -“

Stannis understood Renly’s words, but Ned seemed entirely clueless. _Well, there’s no hurry Ned, you will understand soon enough._ Playing referee to the Baratheon brothers is part of the Hand’s duty, Jon Arryn used to say. 

As they were leaving, Arya Stark turned back to look at Stannis, her scowl softening into an expression of curiosity.

_Now what kind of horrible, terrifying stories have you heard about me?_

He nodded at her. She waited a beat, and nodded back.


	3. Divulging

**Part 3: Divulging**

Antlers streaming with fire.  Antlers stuck on the throat of a direwolf. Haunting his dreams night after night.

He knew who to blame for the second dream. Arya Stark. The Stark girl with her story, her questions and her suspicions.

And the first dream? Perhaps Robert grumbling about the marriage of Daenerys Targaryen to a Dothraki horselord. “If only you had done your job and not let those damn Targaryens escape from Dragonstone!”

Fire and blood. Blood of the dragon. Dragon fire.

_Nonsense. The only dragons still existing are the stone dragons back at Dragonstone._

Or it could be the letter from Cressen warning him about the fire priestess from Asshai, newly arrived at Dragonstone, converting many from the Faith of the Seven to the Red God. Including his own wife.

_I don’t care about any god. Why should it matter which god anyone chooses to worship?_

Dreams were not prophecies or harbinger of dooms to come, his mother had taught him. They were merely manifestations of the thoughts un-thought during the waking hours. The things shelved to the deep recesses of the mind.

_The things we’re afraid to admit even to ourselves._

Or manifestation of a guilty conscience, his mother had continued.

_I have nothing to feel guilty about. I have done nothing wrong. I have done my duty, always. It is what I do that counts, not what is in my heart._

That girl had accosted him one day when he went to the Tower of the Hand to speak to Ned Stark. Started speaking to him without so much as a by your leave or “my lord”.

“Are you the king’s brother?”

“You know I am. And you should address me properly, child.”

She shrugged. “You don’t look like him.” A pause. “My lord. Or like Lord Renly.”

“And you don’t look like your sister. Siblings don’t have to look alike.”

“I know _that_. Sansa is prettier. Everyone said so.”

Not what Stannis meant.

“Well, I wouldn’t know,” he replied.

She looked at him skeptically at first, but then said, “No, _you_ wouldn’t, would you?”

She continued. “Your brother killed Lady. Ordered her to be killed, really, but it’s the same thing.”

He raised his eyebrow. _Lady?_

“Sansa’s direwolf.”

“You should refer to the king as His Grace. And the wolf attacked Prince Joffrey, it should be punished. And you shouldn’t keep wolves as pets anyway.”

She looked angry. “It wasn’t Lady, it was Nymeria. _My_ direwolf. And she was only trying to protect me. And they’re not pets.”

The names were confusing him. “Why was it not your wolf that was punished, then?”

She hesitated. “Nymeria … ran away. They couldn’t find her.”

There was something in that hesitation, and the fact that she averted her eyes from him. Only for a few moments, but enough to tell him she was hiding something.

He pushed that thought aside for a more pressing matter. Punishing one wolf for the crime of another was ill done. It was not justice. Robert should not have done that.

“Maybe Old Nan is right. It was a warning. That stag killing the mother direwolf,” Arya Stark continued.

_Is this how children tell a story? Jumping from one place to another without warning?_

“When they found the pups, the mother was dead, with stag antlers on her throat.”

She was looking at him with a curious expression.

“House Stark and House Baratheon are not enemies,” he finally said.

“But you don’t like my father. Everybody said so. The servants, the knights, even the lords.”

“Little girls should not be spying on other people’s conversations.”

“It was hardly spying, no one is making a secret of it. They say you wanted to be the Hand yourself, my lord. They say you dislike my father because your brother … His Grace, I mean … loves my father more than he loves you.”

_So this conversation has a purpose after all. She wanted to see if I am her father’s enemy._

“I don’t have to account for myself to a child,” he scoffed.

“You will need to answer to the king if you do anything to harm my father. He loves my father like his own brother. No, more than he loves his real brothers. Everybody said so.”

This has gone on long enough. He didn’t know why he had indulged this infernal child. This rude child.

_Just because she is the same age as Shireen -_

He could not resist one last question though. “Do you always believe the things “everybody said”? I have to say, I am quite disappointed. For some reason, I expected better from you. Perhaps I was mistaken.”

For the first time since she started the conversation, Arya Stark seemed uncertain.

_She is only a child. Why do I persist in wanting to win the argument? Walk away. Now._

Before he could turn to walk away, he heard a woman’s voice shouting, “Arya! Arya!”

Arya Stark did not move from the spot she was standing.

“Do you always ignore it when you are summoned?” He asked.

“That’s only Septa Mordane. Calling me for the sewing lesson.”

“And is it the septa or the lesson that you object to?”

“I don’t understand why I have to learn sewing. Or dancing.”

He replied automatically, without giving it much thought. “I’m sure you have to.”

“But why?”

He regretted continuing the conversation in the first place. Yet she was looking at him with the eyes of a child now, a child searching for answers, instead of an adversary challenging him.

“There are things we have to do, whether we like it or not. Whether we want to or not. Because it is our duty,” he finally said.

“Our duty to who? And how do we know what is our duty, and what is not?”

“Arya! Come inside this instant or I will be forced to tell you lord father.” The voice was more insistent this time.

She sighed. And started running inside. Not very proper and ladylike, Stannis thought. But this child did not seem to be the type who would care about that.

She stopped mid-run, and turned around to look at him. “You still owe me an answer, my lord.”

“I told you, the Starks and Baratheons are not enemies. I am not your father’s enemy.”

 _But I am not his friend either. Or his brother. The chosen brother of my brother is not_ my _brother_.

“No, not that question.  The one about duty.”  

_Why should I indulge this child?_

But she posed it as a challenge this time, rather than as a child needing an answer from an adult.

“I hope you have the answer the next time we meet, my lord.”

He was about to say to her, “ _Why should we ever meet again? I have no business with a child like you_ ,” when she walked away, yelling, “I’m coming! Stop fussing,” at the top of her lungs.

He felt sorry for the poor septa.

He was writing a letter to his daughter that night when Davos came to his bedchamber. Or trying to write one anyway. He never knew what to write to her. Shireen wouldn’t be interested in the business of the council or the court, he thought.

Davos had come to King’s Landing to accompany his fifth son Devan, who Stannis had appointed as his squire to replace one of his squires who had been knighted. And to deliver to Stannis a letter from Maester Cressen. A very important letter, too important to be entrusted to a raven. Or to anyone else.

Stannis had sent a letter to Cressen asking for information about poisons. He had questioned Lord Arryn’s servants about his condition before his death. As a precaution, in case the letter to Cressen fell to the wrong hand, Stannis had written three different sets of symptoms, and asked the old master to look up the type of poison responsible for each. He dared not ask any of the maesters in King’s Landing.

_Most of them are probably bought and paid for by the Lannisters._

Davos had met Stannis in his study when he first arrived, bringing Devan with him. The boy was courteous, but did not look terrified of Stannis. Unlike Bryen Farring, his other squire. Devan had been squiring for Lord Celtigar for almost a year.

“Bryen will let you know your duties,” Stannis told him.

After the boys left, Davos was about the give him the letter from Cressen, but Stannis stopped him. “See me in my chamber tonight,” he said. Davos looked curious, but did not ask any question.

He read the letter from Cressen as soon as Davos gave it to him that night. He skipped past the name of the poison for the two other sets of symptoms, and went straight to Jon Arryn’s. Tears of Lys, was Cressen’s answer. A very expensive and rare poison. Cresssen had underlined the words “rare” and “expensive”. He had not asked any question. The old maester knew Stannis well enough to know that questions would not be welcomed. Instead he wrote at the bottom, in tiny letters almost invisible to the eyes: _Tread softly, my lord._

Stannis went to the fireplace, tore the letter up into little pieces, and fed the pieces to the fire. He watched it burn slowly, until only ashes remained. _Can’t be too careful_ , he thought, _the chambermaids who come to clean the room could be somebody’s spies._ He thought of his next move - finding out who would have access to the poison.

No, not just access, access _and_ ability to slip it to Jon Arryn. Probably in his food or drink; the poison was tasteless according to Cressen.

But then again, he thought, it didn’t necessarily have to be someone in proximity to Jon Arryn. They could have paid someone in Lord Arryn’s household to do the deed. One of the servants, or one of the squires.

Or one of the maesters treating him during his illness.

Stannis suddenly remembered Davos was still in the room with him. Davos was sitting silently, his expression inscrutable. But a flick of his eyebrow told all.

“Ask the question you want to ask, Ser Davos.”

“Are you in any kind of danger, my lord?”

“No.” He reconsidered. “I don’t know. I could be. I might be. There are certain things that I have to find out. But asking questions could let certain people know that I have knowledge about a certain secret.”

“A secret that Lord Arryn knew as well?”

“Yes.”

“And this secret led to his death?”

“That is my suspicion, yes. The timing is very convenient for certain people. But I do not know for sure. And I certainly can’t prove it. Yet.”

“But if you are in possession of this secret as well, my lord, surely your life is in danger too.”

“The persons most affected if this secret is divulged might not know yet that I share Lord Arryn’s knowledge. Otherwise, I would have met the same fate as Lord Arryn at the same time.”

Davos did not seem convinced. “But if you are asking questions about his death now, surely they would suspect something, my lord.”

“How do you know I am asking questions about Lord Arryn’s death?”

“Maester Cressen was researching poisons back at Dragonstone. I saw the books in his chamber. It must be related to your letter. And the fact that you wanted me personally to deliver his reply to you. Not a raven, or anyone else.”

Davos is no fool, Stannis thought.  “I could use your wit and wile around here, onion knight. To help me look into this matter,” he said, smiling.

“If you wish me to stay, my lord, I will.”

Stannis was tempted. Very tempted. To have one of the only two people he truly trusted here with him, in King’s Landing. Helping him figure out how to solve the two issues – proving that Robert was not the father of Cersei’s children, and finding out who poisoned Jon Arryn. And if Davos was in Dragonstone, it would be hard for Stannis to get his counsel.  In case the letters fell into the wrong hands.

But no, he knew he could not ask Davos to stay at King’s Landing. Even if he wanted to. Even if he needed to. Davos had his duties at Dragonstone, captaining his ship. And bringing Davos into the secret could put him in danger. When it was not his battle to fight.

And in the end, it should not be about wants or needs, he reminded himself. _It is about duty. We each have our duty._

“No, Ser Davos. You have your duties at Dragonstone, and I have my duties here.”

Davos looked disappointed. “I am a knight sworn to protect you, my lord.”

“You are a knight sworn to protect the realm, Ser Davos. And the innocent. Do not confuse your duty with your loyalty.”  

They were interrupted by his squire coming in and announcing that Lord Stark had requested to see him, and was waiting outside.  

Why would Ned come looking for him in his bedchamber, this late at night? He recalled the first Small Council meeting Ned chaired. He was as displeased as Stannis was about Robert’s plan for the tourney celebrating his appointment as Hand. Especially after Petyr Baelish said that they would have to borrow from the Lannisters to pay for it. Stannis had sat silent the whole meeting, until Ned asked him what he thought of the idea.

“A very ill-considered one,” Stannis had said. “But very few people can talk Robert out of anything, once he has made up his mind.”

Renly had laughed uproariously. “That’s a challenge, Ned. Stannis wants to see if _you_ can convince Robert. To see if you are worthy of being Robert’s Hand.”

Stannis was furious. He glared at Renly. “That is not what I meant at all.”

“I’m sure it’s not,” Ned had replied, before Renly could.

He didn’t know whether Ned had said it just to keep the peace, or if he truly believed it.

Bryen Farring was waiting for his answer. “Ask Lord Stark to come in,” Stannis said.

Ned was taken aback to see Davos with Stannis in the room. “My apologies. I did not know you have a visitor. I will wait outside.”

“No, it’s fine, Ser Davos is just leaving.”  

Not really, but Stannis did not want Davos pressing his case to stay at King’s Landing. He could see from Davos’ expression that he was gearing up to do just that, marshalling all the arguments, preparing all the justifications.

He might be tempted and convinced by Davos’ arguments. Without realizing it, over the years, he had come to rely so much on this man.

_This is my battle. I have to fight it on my own._

Ned’s face lit up at the mention of Davos’ name. “Ser Davos Seaworth, who saved the people of Storm’s End with his onions and salted fish? An honor to finally meet you, ser.”

Ned seemed genuinely pleased. Davos was taken aback. Stannis was too. He did not know that Ned would know the details, down to what Davos brought to Storm’s End that fateful night.

 _He must know about the fingers too_.

“The honor is mine, Lord Stark. I have heard so much about you.”

“Good things, I hope?” Ned was looking at Stannis, smiling, as he asked Davos the question.

Stannis was curious how Davos would answer this question. Davos had heard all his complaining, about Robert preferring Ned Stark in everything. It was not in Davos Seaworth to tell a bald-faced lie.

“Your decency and honor is well-known all over the Seven Kingdoms, Lord Stark.”

A non-answer, if ever there was one.  

Ned smiled.

Davos excused himself, asking in a low voice as he was leaving, “Any message for Maester Cressen, my lord?”

“Tell him not to worry,” Stannis replied.

 _Of course the old man would worry anyway_ , he knew.

Ned apologized for coming so late. Stannis waved it off. He sat and waited. Ned seemed to be weighing his words.

“I suppose I should state my business directly.”

“Yes, I would prefer that.”

“It’s about Jon’s death. I heard that you were … asking questions.”

“Who did you hear this from? Lord Varys, I suppose?”

Ned looked surprised. “No, not from Varys. I was making my own inquiries, and was told by various parties that you have been asking some of the same questions, before I was. Some of them thought you were making an official investigation on behalf of the council, and that I would already have all the facts.”

“As the Hand, you mean? That I would have reported it to you? Is that your expectation as well? That I have to report everything to you?” He could not keep the note of bitterness out of his voice.

“No, of course not. Only that in this matter, I wonder-“

“I never represented myself as making inquiries on behalf of the council. Or that it was an official investigation.”

“But as someone who sits on the Small Council, and who is also the king’s brother, surely your position might lead some people to believe that.” Ned’s voice was gentle rather than stern, but that only irritated Stannis more.

He had to admit to himself, however, that Ned had a point. It was something that had not occurred to Stannis, in his zeal to find out the truth.

“Well, it’s done now. I don’t think there is any use going back to them to clarify, it will only bring up more questions.” Something else occurred to Stannis, however. “When you were asking the questions, I suppose the same issue did not come up? Especially since you are higher up in the council. Hand of the King and all. If there _is_ an official investigation, it would be the Hand of the King, and not the lowly Master of Ships who conducts it.”

Ned merely smiled. “Point taken, Stannis. Perhaps we were both being … imprudent in our methods. Let me ask you this then. Do you think there _should_ be an official investigation on Jon’s death?”

Stannis considered his answer. Jon Arryn was like a father to Ned. _He deserves to know the truth._ And Stannis could tell Ned had his own suspicions as well. Based on what, Stannis did not know.

“I don’t think it would be wise to have an _official_ investigation.” He put the emphasis on “official.”

“But you think there should be an investigation nonetheless?” Ned asked. “May I ask why you thought Jon’s death is not a natural one?”

“Of course you may ask. Whether I will answer or not is up to me.”

Ned seemed at a loss. Finally he repeated the question, after a long pause. “Tell me, Stannis. Why do you suspect that Jon’s death involved some kind of treachery?”

“Why do you?”

The unspoken tension lying between them – _do I trust you enough to tell you my reasons? And if you don’t trust me enough to tell me your reasons, why then should I trust you?_

There was another long silence. Ned was looking at him with plaintive eyes and an earnest expression.

_This is not a man who plays games._

Stannis weighed everything he knew about Ned Stark, against his own bias and personal feelings towards Ned. Ned had never liked the Lannisters. In fact, it had caused a big rift between Ned and Robert when Robert accepted Tywin Lannister’s men raping Elia Martell and killing her and her children. Stannis recalled too that Ned wanted Jaime Lannister to be sent to the Wall, for killing the king he was sworn to protect. If only Robert had listened to Ned then, Stannis thought. If the Lannisters were responsible for Jon Arryn’s death, Ned would want justice to be done.

Ned started speaking before Stannis could make up his mind. “I have thought long and hard of this. In fact I have made up my mind to tell you before I came here. That’s why I seek you out in your chamber, Stannis. As you may know, Lady Arryn is my wife’s sister.”

Stannis nodded, and waited for Ned to continue.

“She managed to slip through a letter through someone in the king’s party. A message for my wife. Hidden and written in a secret language known only to them."

All the secrecy. Lysa Arryn must be terrified. “And what did the letter say?”

“That Jon was murdered. Poisoned. By the Lannisters.”

So Lysa Arryn did know something after all. Perhaps he was wise not to have written to her. Terrified as she was, she might have done anything. She would tell the truth to her sister, but not a stranger like Stannis.

 _But how reliable is Lysa Arryn’s account?_ This question had not occurred to him before, but he thought of it now, as he remembered bits and pieces he had heard and observed about Lady Arryn throughout the years.

“You don’t seem surprised.”

“But you said so yourself, Ned. You know I have my suspicions.”

“Regarding the manner of Jon’s death, yes, but not about the likely culprit. What made you suspect the Lannisters?”

“Let me ask you this first. Do you believe Lady Arryn’s account?”

Ned seemed almost offended. “Lysa would not lie. Not to her own sister.”

“Maybe not. But … how should I put this? When was the last time you saw Lady Arryn?”

“It has been years. Why?”

“I am not a very observant man, or a very understanding one, when it comes to women. But having spent fifteen years in King’s Landing with Lady Arryn, I will only say that I have some … reservations … about the reliability of Lady Arryn’s account about anything. I don’t think her words are enough as proof.”

“And yet you suspect the Lannisters as well.”

“For my own reasons. And it is only a suspicion at this point. I have no proof.”

“Do you intend to seek this proof?”

“Yes. Jon Arryn might not have been a surrogate father to me the way he was to you and Robert, but he was a valued colleague. And even if he was not, justice must be done. Murder and treachery must be punished, no matter who it is. Anyone who breaks the law must be punished.”

“Even the person who saved the people in Storm’s End from starving?” A wry smile from Ned.

“Do you disagree with that?”

Ned was quiet. “You did it with your own hand, at least. I can’t disagree with _that_.”

“You have not asked me what prompted my suspicion of the Lannisters.”

“I was hoping my gesture of telling you my reasons would convince you to trust me. Or is that too optimistic?”

“No. I will tell you the reason. Because ultimately it involves the fate of the kingdom. And as Hand, you should know it. And you are the only person alive Robert will listen to, Ned.”

“I’m all ears, Stannis.”


	4. Affinity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is heavy on Arya-Stannis because I need to develop the relationship (err, not in THAT way, obviously, hehe) for future plot reasons.

_He is not so very different from me_. The thought floated into his mind, watching Ned’s grave expression and listening to Ned’s questions, as Stannis was telling him about the secret. The secret previously only known to Stannis and Jon Arryn.

_And to Cersei and Jaime Lannister, of course. And Lord Tywin? Does he know? Or at least suspects?_

Somehow Stannis doubted it. Tywin Lannister was nothing if not strategic. Whatever else he might think or feel about the incest, he would want to make sure that his grandsons are Robert’s, to ensure succession to the throne, and the continuing power and influence of House Lannister. He would be furious that Cersei and Jaime had endangered that.

But even if he found out the truth, he would pretend in public that it was a lie, Stannis knew. He would insist on it.

_Or even pretend to himself that it is a lie. We are all capable of self-deception, myself included._

Ned was asking him another question. “Where is the book now?”

“I don’t know. I looked for it in Lord Arryn’s study after his death, but it was not there. He must have returned it to Pycelle.”

“Did you look at the book yourself?”

“No. There was no time. He fell ill the very next day after he told me that he had found proof in a book. Proof that Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen could not have been sired by Robert. Or by any Baratheon. That was the way he put it.”

Ned was taken aback. “By any Baratheon? That is a strange way of putting it.”

“I thought so myself. There was no chance of asking him during his illness, he was always surrounded by people. Maesters, Lady Arryn, the servants, Robert.”

They were silent after that, both lost in thoughts. Stannis was amazed at how easily Ned seemed to trust his account of events. 

 _I could be lying for the purpose of putting myself next in line for the throne._ That would have been Robert’s first thought, Stannis was certain. And with Jon Arryn dead, there was no one to confirm Stannis’ story.

_And yet Ned -_

“I will ask Maester Pycelle about the book,” Ned finally said.

“Is that wise? He is loyal to the Lannisters, he always has been. He might suspect that _you_ suspect something, and relay that to the queen,” Stannis countered.

Ned took a moment to consider. “Maester Pycelle did tell me that Jon’s death was natural. That there was nothing suspicious about it. And yet your own maester said that it _was_ caused by poison. So was Pychelle lying, or merely incompetent?”

It was Stannis’ turn to reflect. “Maester Cressen is wise and learned, he would not make a mistake in identifying the cause of death and the type of poison. But of course he was not present at Lord Arryn’s bedside during the illness himself. He was working from information I provided him regarding the symptoms. If that information is inaccurate, then his answer will be inaccurate as well.”

“Then I’m sure Maester Cressen got the best information he could have. You would have made sure of that,” Ned smiled as he said this.

Stannis did not acknowledge the praise. Ned Stark trusting him, Ned Stark praising him, all of that made him uneasy.

_You should not trust me so easily, Ned. You don’t know the kind of thoughts I have had about you._

Arya Stark would have told her father the same thing, Stannis knew.

“Maester Cressen once told me that Pycelle is a very learned and wise maester himself. I find it hard to believe that he would miss the symptoms, and not know that Lord Arryn’s death was not natural. Whatever else Pycelle is, he is not incompetent. Or a fool,” Stannis said.

Cressen had told him that after Stannis had railed about Robert insisting on retaining Pycelle as the Grand Maester. “He is completely loyal to the Lannisters. He will do their bidding, not Robert’s and the throne’s.”

He was brought back to the present by Ned’s voice. “I wonder if you could accompany me to see these … children?”

“Robert’s bastards?”

“Yes.”

 _Ahhh, perhaps he does have doubts about my account after all. Very wise, Ned. Never trust what anyone tells you, unless you see it with your own eyes_ and hear it with your own ears.

“Of course. Let me know when.”

“It will have to be after the tourney. I don’t think it will be wise for us to be seen in certain establishments when they are filled to capacity with people coming to King’s Landing for the tourney.”

Stannis nodded. Ned did not seem like he was ready to leave, however.

“Is there anything else you wish to know?” Stannis finally asked.

Ned looked sheepish. “Well, there is, actually. Not related to the matter at hand. I would like your assistance, and your time, in another matter. You can say no, of course. I’m sure you have more pressing matters on your plate.”

All the preambles was testing Stannis’ patience. _Out with it, Ned._ He did not remember Ned Stark as a man who would chatter nonsensically.

“What is it?”

“My younger daughter, Arya, she wanted one lesson with you. About the history of House Baratheon.”

“Why? Surely the maesters at Winterfell have taught her that.”

“She said it’s because she’s in King’s Landing now, and Housee Baratheon is the ruling house. She did learn from Maester Luwin, but as part of all the other major Houses, not in specific details.”

Ned hesitated, before continuing. “Under normal circumstance, I would not even forward this request, it is not proper to ask you this. But the girls have been … distraught.”

“Because of the direwolves?”

“Yes. And, well, the butcher’s boy had been Arya’s friend. I suppose I could send her to one of the maesters here, but I have noticed that they have a tendency to … exaggerate and romanticize things, when they are teaching the girls the history of the rebellion, for example. Arya has a lot of imagination. Too much, sometimes. Perhaps you could tell her the history of House Baratheon in a more realistic way, less about the romance and adventure of wars and battles, and more about the cost of it.”

“Perhaps my version would be too harsh for a nine-year-old.”

_Do you really want to entrust your daughter’s education to me, Ned, even for one lesson?_

“She has to learn the ways of the world eventually. And I’m sure you will know best how to make it suitable for her ears. Your daughter is the same age, I hear.”

_That is too optimistic of you Ned. You don’t know how little I know about my own daughter._

“Besides, Arya seems to have taken a shine to you. She was very insistent.”

_She has her own reasons. And not the ones you think, Ned._

Yet he was curious. And challenged.

“I will send my squire to let her know of the time and place.”

“Thank you.” Ned had something _else_ to say. “What do you think Robert will do, when we tell him? That is, if we can prove it.”

“He will believe it coming from you.”

Ned looked sad. “He doesn’t think as badly of you as you might think.”

Stony silent from Stannis.

“Forgive me, it is not my concern. I should not intrude.”

“No, you should not.”

“But that’s not what I mean, whether he will believe it or not. It’s whether –”

“What?”

“Never mind, it’s too early to worry about it now. We should focus on finding the proof first.” And with that, Ned finally left Stannis’ chamber.

He waited three days before sending Devan to summon Arya Stark to his study. _Let’s see if this child truly wants to learn, or is using that merely as an excuse._ She came to his study with quill and papers, and diligently took notes while he was speaking.

_Perhaps she really does want to learn._

He did not leave a space for her to ask any questions, or put forward her own thoughts, until he was done. _  
_

“Tell me what you have learned from this session, child.”

She began summarizing what he had said, without once glancing at the notes. Her summary was accurate enough, but Stannis was not impressed.

“No, I want to know what _you_ think, not what I told you. Parroting other people’s words is easy enough.”

“You asked me what I have learned, not what I thought about it,” she replied, undeterred.

_Fair enough._

“Well, get on with it then. What do you think?”

“I can say anything, and you will not be angry?”

“How can I know before I hear what you have to say?”

“It might make you angry.”

“Surely you’re not afraid of my anger? The child who accosted me in the middle of the road and started throwing accusations and making threats.”

“No, I’m not afraid of you. But you might tell Father, and I don’t want him to be angry. Or upset.”

“Whatever we talk about in this room today will stay between us. I will not tell your father, or anyone else. You have my word.”

“Well, the story about Durran building Storm’s End - no, building and rebuilding the castle every time it was destroyed by Elenei’s parents, that’s like the king, and my aunt Lyanna. The king fought a war for the woman he loved, just like Durran defied the gods for the woman he loved.”

He was sorely disappointed. She had chosen the love explanation, over the more important things.

“It is not the same thing at all,” he snapped. “The Mad King was cruel and unjust, he murdered countless people including your grandfather and your uncle Brandon. Don’t you know the history of your own House, child?”

“Of course I do,” she snapped back. “But that was the reason why my father fought the war, for his father and brother and sister. But King Robert, his own family was not killed or captured.”

 _Your father was his chosen brother, your father’s family was his family too, in Robert’s eyes_ , Stannis thought, but did not say to Arya.

“Anything else?”

“If Joffrey and Tommen are not here, will Princess Myrcella become queen?”

“What do you mean, not here?”

“Well, if they don’t exist, let’s say.”

“But they do exist, and you should call them Prince Joffrey and Prince Tommen.”

“If they are dead, then. Will Princes Myrcella be the queen, and rule over the Seven Kingdoms?”

_None of them will. Joffrey, Tommen or Myrcella. They are not the legitimate heirs._

“No, she will not. And I would be careful talking about the two Princes being dead. You were already in trouble for attacking Joffrey before.”

“Why wouldn’t she? Can’t a woman be the ruling queen?”

“The succession passes to all the male relatives first.”

“Male relatives, meaning you, my lord, and Lord Renly?”

“Yes.”

“But uncle Benjen cannot inherit Winterfell before Sansa and me. Is that because he’s in the Night’s Watch?”

“No, that’s not the reason. Even if he is not a member of the Night’s Watch, he will not inherit before your sister and you. Because the law of succession for the throne is different.”

“It’s not fair,” Arya said.

“It’s the law,” Stannis replied.

“But they only made that law after the Targaryen’s civil war. The one called The Dance of the Dragons. Because they were angry at Rhaenyra Targaryen for wanting to be queen. Her father wanted her to rule, and had trained her to rule. But just because some men don’t want to be ruled by a woman-“

“So you know all about it after all. Why did you ask the question, then?”

“To see how you would answer it, my lord,” she said, without a trace of fear or embarrassment at being caught red-handed.

“It wasn’t that simple. Her brother had his supporters too. And her son did end up as king.”

“But if the law can be changed so easily, then it is not so sacred after all. And following the law is not a sacred duty.” She said this with conviction, more conviction than he would have expected from a mere child of nine.

“The world can’t function if everyone thinks that way. There would be chaos everywhere. Deaths and destruction.”

“What if the law is unjust?” She asked.

“Unjust in whose eyes?” He replied.

She had no answer to that. He felt ashamed for reveling in beating a child in an argument.

“Family, duty, honor,” she suddenly said.

Or maybe not. She was not done challenging him.

“That’s the House words for House Tully. Your mother’s House. What of it?”

“Family comes first for the Tullys. Duty comes first for you. And honor comes first for father.”

“Honor? Not preparing for winter? Preparing for bad times?”

Her laughter was so unexpected, Stannis almost fell off his chair.

“Winter is coming. Is that not the words for House Stark? Why are you laughing? I fail to see what could have amused you so much.”

She struggled to stop giggling. “Never mind. You won’t understand why it’s funny. I asked you about duty before. What do you consider your most important duty, my lord? To the law? Or to the king?”

“Both, of course.”

“What if they clash?”

“Then the law reigns supreme.”

“But what if your brother … the king … then changes the law to fit what he wants to do?”

 _Smart girl_ , he thought. She had obviously predicted what his answers would be to each query, and prepared another question for each answer, in advance.

_But why? Why go to all this trouble?_

“There is a greater law,” he finally said.

“From the gods?”

“No. From the conception of justice. Of what is just and what is not. Everyone will reap what they sow.”

“That sounds terrifying,” she replied.

“And what about you? Are you more a Tully, or a Stark?”

“What do you mean?”

“Family first, or honor first?”

“I don’t know. I need to think about it. I will let you know,” she said, smiling.

_Another ploy to meet me and interrogate me again? What does she want, this child? Still worrying that I am her father’s enemy?_

He was about to send her off when she asked another question. “Why is your daughter not here with you?”

“She is with her mother, at Dragonstone.” He should not have replied, he thought.

_Just tell her to stop asking so many questions, and send her off._

“She must be lonely at Dragonstone, with only Patchface the fool as her companion. Here she can play with Joffrey, Tommen and Myrcella. Well, maybe not Joffrey, because he’s awful.”

He had noticed her talking to his squires. And the servants. This child got around everywhere, it seemed. The septa must not be doing her duties properly, watching over the Stark girls.

“How do you know anything about my daughter? Have my squires been telling you tales?”

She was taken aback by his harsh tone. _This is who I am, child. I have been far too lenient and indulgent with you._

“Are you going to ask me which one? Or say you will punish them both if I don’t tell you?”

That she should think that he was capable of that kind of injustice, punishing the innocent to find the guilty party, angered him beyond measure.

“I think that should be enough, you can leave now.”

“I’m sorry. I know that’s not something you would do.”

“Then why did you say it?”

“I don’t know.” She was looking at her feet now.

 _A child’s answer_ , he thought. _I keep forgetting that she is still a child._

“It wasn’t your squires. They won’t answer my questions about you or your family, my lord. They said it would be breaking the trust.”

“So you did ask them. Why?”

“I was curious. I’ve heard people say that your daughter has greyscale.”

“Had. She is not contagious, or sick.”

“But she has a scar from it.”

“Yes.”

“Maybe we could be friends, she and I.”

“If you want to have a conversation with an adult, you need to stop acting like a child, changing subjects without notice.”

“Because we’re both ugly. I mean, not pretty. Not like Sansa. Or Myrcella.”

“You’ve never met my daughter and you feel comfortable calling her ugly?” His anger was rising again. _How did Ned Stark and his wife raise this child?_ _Or was she raised by wolves?_

“Only, it’s what people say. About the greyscale. And the scar.” She looked quite miserable now.

“You don’t have a scar.”

“Yes, but I don’t look like Sansa. Or Robb. Or Bran. Or Rickon. They all look like mother.”

“Does it matter to you, being pretty?” This was surprising to Stannis, he would not have pegged this girl as someone who cared about such things.

“No! It’s just, people are always comparing Sansa and me. They call me horse-face Arya. I shouldn’t be saying this to you, my lord. Only, I thought … I thought … you would understand.”

“And why would you think that?”

“Well, because you’re not like your brothers. They say Lord Renly looks the spitting image of the king when he was that age.”

“And I’m ugly too, I suppose?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“It was implied.”

“Only, less good looking and charming than them. The way I am less beautiful and graceful than Sansa. Well, at least I heard the king was good looking and charming once, he’s neither now.” She chuckled softly.

“Watch it, that’s the king you’re talking about.” He continued, after a pause. “Looks and charm are not as important as you might think.”

“But people like your brothers more than they like you. And people like Sansa more than they like me.”

“It’s not about looks. Not in my case.”

“It’s because you’re not very nice to people, isn’t it? You’re blunt and you say what you mean.”

He stifled the urge to laugh. Somehow coming from this child, that observation did not anger him.

“And what about you? Why do you think people like you less than they like your sister?”

“It’s because I like to do things that people disapprove of. Like playing with the servant boys, or learning sword fight. But I like those things. I don’t want to stop doing them.”

“Then you’ll just have to accept that some people will never like you.”

Was that the right thing to tell a child? He didn’t know. _Oh Ned, you will regret sending your daughter to cross my path._

“What does your daughter like?”

_I don’t know. I spend so little time with her._

He was still swimming in his own shame and regret, when Arya asked another question.

“Are you ashamed of her? Is that why you won’t take her to King’s Landing with you?”

_I have no right to be angry. I deserve that question.  
_

“No,” he replied. “She’s happier at Dragonstone.”

“Or, are you afraid people will make fun of her here?”

“You ask too many questions about things that don’t concern you, child.”

“When you write to her, will you tell her about me?”

“Why?”

“So she will know who I am. So I can write to her later.”

“Why would you write to her?”

“So we can be friends.”

“Ravens are not for sending frivolous, silly letters from little girls.”

“I am not frivolous, or silly! Or a little girl. Besides, I can just send it with your own letter. How often do you write to her?”

Silence.

“Not very often, then. She must be very lonely, no friends to play with, waiting for the rare letters from her father.”

Something finally clicked in Stannis’ mind. About this girl. About her imagination, and her love for stories and adventures, as Ned had told him. She had named her direwolf Nymeria; that must be in honor of the warrior queen of the Rhoyne, who led her people across the Narrow Sea to Dorne.

“My daughter is not a princess locked in a tower guarded by dragons who needs rescuing.”

Her face got so red, he knew he was on the right track.

“Knights and battles and wars, they’re not wonderful adventures. People die horrific deaths,” he continued.

“I know that. I don’t want to be rescued by a knight, or by anyone.”

“No, you want to be the one fighting and rescuing people.”

“And you think I can’t because I’m a girl.”

That was not a conversation he was willing to have with this child. He changed the subject.

“What do you want me to say about you, when I write to my daughter?”

“I’m sure you will say what you want to say anyway, my lord.”

“She’s very shy, Shireen.”

“So she might not reply to my letter?”

“She will, she is taught to be courteous. And she is kind.” He continued, after a pause. “Are you satisfied?”

“Satisfied? With the lesson today? Well, I knew most of it from the maesters. But you have a way of telling things that makes everything sound a lot less exciting, and more miserable. So that’s different.”

This confounding child! “Well, you should learn that history is not like make-up stories. The world is not easy, or kind. It’s not all about the songs they sing for the glorious dead.”

She looked glum. _Have I said too much for a child’s ear?_

“You should tell Sansa that.”

“Your sister? Why?”

“She thinks she’s going to marry Joffrey and be queen and have his babies and live happily ever after.”

 _She won’t be queen, once we have found the proof_ , he thought. Did Ned consider that? What about her daughter’s betrothal to Joffrey? To a Lannister.

“And you don’t think she will?”

“How can she, when Joffrey is an idiot? And cruel. Oh he pretends to be nice in front of her, but I can see how he really is. I don’t know why Sansa doesn’t see it.”

_Even if she does, a betrothal is not that easily broken._

“Perhaps she does. People don’t always say everything they feel to other people.”

“Why not? Why pretend?”

“Perhaps they think other people won’t understand, or sympathize.”

“You mean me? That I won’t understand or sympathize with Sansa?”

He said nothing.

“If you know so much about siblings, why do you and your brothers not get along?”

After everything that was said, this was the last straw, somehow. He looked away from her, busying himself with the parchments on the table.

After the silence had stretched for what seemed like an eternity, she finally said, “Should I leave, my lord?”

“We’re done, so, yes,” he said, without looking up.

“Thank you.” She hesitated. “My father said I should apologize, for saying that King Robert loves my father more than his brothers.”

“I don’t care what you father wants you to do, that is not my concern.”

“I mean, I’m sorry, my lord. I should not have said that.”

“Why?”

“Why, what?”

“Why are you sorry? Because your father told you to be sorry?”

“No, because … well, because it was a hurtful thing to say.”

“I wasn’t hurt by something said by an ignorant little girl. Did you mean it to be hurtful?”

“No, I just, I thought you were father’s enemy. I only wanted to warn you.”

“Do you still think I’m his enemy?”

“No. But sometimes, people who are not enemies can harm someone too, without meaning to.”

_Does she know about me letting Ned in on the secret, and how that could endanger him too? How could she know?_

“Also, Father said it’s not true, about the king loving him more. More than his brothers. More than you.”

Stannis nodded and waved her off. “You’ve apologized. You can tell your father that. You’ve done your duty.”

“You don’t believe it, do you? What father said.”

“I said you can go.”

“And it’s not about duty. Apologizing, I mean.”

He sighed. _Why is she still here?_ “Well, it can’t be family, since we’re not related, so it must be honor. But I can’t see how.”

“It’s none of those things.”

“I don’t need to know. In fact, I don’t want to know, it doesn’t interest me.”

“It’s because it made you sad. It made you sad the way I was sad when Sansa would rather play and talk with Jeyne Poole and her friends than with me.”

How dare her! Comparing a lifetime of slights with children playing favorites. He was about to explode, when he looked up to see her watching him, with sad, earnest eyes.

_Why should she care if I was sad?_

“I wasn’t sad, only annoyed. Annoyed at the rude little girl talking about things she didn’t understand. That’s all.”

Her expression was poised between believing and not believing. Finally she smiled. “I will give you my answer later.”

“Answer?”

“Between family and honor. Or really, between family, duty and honor. Which comes first for me.”

 _Don’t choose duty_ , he thought. _It will only bring you untold misery._


	5. Tourney of the Hand (a)

_The problem with duty is_ , Stannis Baratheon thought as he made his way across the field, _you have to endure countless things you’d rather not._

Like attending this tourney, for example.

He had overheard his squire Bryen Farring telling his new squire Devan Seaworth about previous tourneys he had attended in King’s Landing. Devan had sounded excited about attending his first tourney, but Bryen had quickly thrown cold water on that.

“Not this one, I should think. Lord Stannis will not attend it.”

“Why not?” Devan had asked.

“Because it’s the tourney in honor of Lord Stark’s appointment as Hand of the King,” was Bryen Farring’s reply.

Devan had nodded, as if no other explanation was needed. Stannis was livid. Was that what everyone was thinking? That he would not attend the tourney out of spite?

He had already intended to attend the tourney; a few knights from Dragonstone would be participating. It was his duty as Lord of Dragonstone to be there. He told Bryen and Devan pointedly that he was going to attend, and that they will both be there with him. The boys, especially Devan, looked so excited, he did not have the heart to scold them for what he had overheard earlier. Or to give Devan the talk he had given Bryen before taking him to his first tourney at King’s Landing, about the wastefulness and frivolity of tourneys, and the danger of making a sport out of killing and fighting.

 _I will talk to Devan about it after the tourney_ , he resolved.

As soon as they entered the arena, he saw Ned Stark’s older daughter, sitting with the septa. Septa Mordane, he had learned her name. There was another girl sitting with them. Not Arya Stark. Ned Stark was also nowhere in sight.

When all the participants were being presented, Stannis paid close attention to Jaime Lannister. He was dressed differently than the other members of the Kingsguard. He was also wearing the white cloak, but underneath it, dressed in gold from head to toe, and wearing a lion’s head as his helm. A Lannister through and through.

 _Robert should have listened to Ned Stark and sent the Kingslayer to the Wall_ , Stannis thought, not for the first time. _We would not be in this predicament if he had done so. Perhaps Lord Arryn would still be alive._

It was Jon Arryn who had counseled Robert against taking that course. And it was also Jon Arryn who had negotiated the marriage between Robert and Cersei Lannister. To ensure Tywin Lannister’s loyalty to Robert, he had said. So he would not be tempted to support Viserys Targaryen, in case the Beggar King somehow found an army to reclaim the throne. Stannis had taken that as an implicit rebuke to himself, for not capturing Viserys and his sister before they escaped from Dragonstone. Robert had railed about it often enough.

He was not really paying attention to the matches, until the death of Jon Arryn’s former squire. Robert had knighted the boy before he rode for Winterfell, in honor of Jon Arryn. Stannis had thought the boy a callow youth, not yet skilled in combat, not yet ready to be knighted. Certainly not yet ready to fight in a tourney.

Tourney lances were made to break on impact, to lessen the risk of death and injury, but Ser Gregor Clegane had thrusted his lance with such force, it drove through the boy’s throat like a knife through hot butter. The boy took his time dying. And there was a lot of blood. Blood everywhere.

 _Such a pointless death_ , Stannis thought. Not fighting for anything that mattered, but for tourney glory, which meant nothing in the end.

And why was the match-up such a lopsided one? The might of The Mountain against such a green youth.

The last match of the day was won by Ser Loras Tyrell. Stannis watched Renly, who had lost his own match earlier against Sandor Clegane, cheering and clapping for him. Cheering and clapping for the son of the man who held them imprisoned inside the walls of Storm’s End for almost a year. Starving to death.

 _Renly was only a child then. And children forget._ A voice that sounded so much like his mother’s whispered.

It was only the wind, he told himself. But he silently replied to that voice nonetheless.

_I will never forget what the Tyrells did to us. Not ever._

Knight of the Flowers, Loras Tyrell was called. Stannis scoffed. What a ridiculous name. Watching Loras Tyrell presenting a red rose to Sansa Stark, he suddenly thought of Rhaegar Targaryen crowning Lyanna Stark as Queen of Love and Beauty. It had been a laurel of blue winter roses that time. Crowning an already betrothed young woman over his own wife. Stannis was not there, but he had heard Robert raging about it often enough.

He wondered what Lyanna Stark must have thought. She could not have refused the honor, Rhaegar was the Crown Prince, the heir to the throne. But Elia Martell was sitting right there, Rhaegar had bypassed her to crown Lyanna Stark instead. What was Princess Elia thinking? More pressingly, what was Rhaegar Targaryen thinking? Did he think of his wife at all? Of bringing shame to her?

Why should it matter? They were all dead now. Flesh and blood no longer. Only bones. Only memories. He didn’t know them, he could not even begin to fathom what had gone through their minds. But that was the fault-line that started everything.

If only Rhaegar Targaryen had never seen Lyanna Stark. If only Lyanna Stark had stayed at Winterfell and did not come to the tourney.

But was that true? It could just as well have been another woman. Another woman Rhaegar took by force. Another family asking for justice from the Mad King, and cruelly murdered for it. Another family leading a rebellion. There would still be war, and countless deaths.

Robert’s Rebellion, it was called. History recast into a tragic story of a man fighting to rescue his beloved. In truth, the various Houses supporting the rebellion, each for their own reasons, had decided to unite under Robert’s banner not because Robert was Lyanna’s betrothed, but because of the Targaryen blood flowing inside him. Flowing inside the great-grandson of King Aegon V, from the line of his daughter Rhaelle Targaryen, the mother of Lord Steffon Baratheon. 

 _Father was half Targaryen. The Mad King was father’s cousin. We are a quarter Targaryen, Robert, Renly and I._ These thoughts always came to him when Robert started with his Targaryen hate and blood-thirst. And vengeance. Vengeance for Lyanna Stark, who ended up dying anyway. Rhaegar Targaryen, slain by Robert’s war hammer at the Trident, was their cousin. That girl married to the Dothraki horselord, also their cousin, as was Viserys Targaryen. The “heir”. He must have arranged his sister’s marriage to gain an army.

 _We are blood, even if distantly so._ He thought of the taint of madness in the Targaryens. The gods tossed a coin every time a Targaryen was born, went the story. Madness or greatness. Aerys was mad, but Rhaegar, Rhaegar was supposedly marked for greatness. Stannis had heard all the stories and the songs. But what kind of greatness could have possibly come from someone so reckless and thoughtless about his duties? Duty to the realm. Duty to his wife. Duty to his children.

 _Do we have that taint in us as well?_ Stannis had wondered at times, looking at Joffrey, especially after the incident with the cat. But Joffrey was not a Baratheon with some Targaryen blood flowing inside him. He was a Lannister through and through.

A Lannister born from incest. Just like the Targaryens.

If it had been another woman Rhaegar had taken, Robert would not have been king. Maybe he and Lyanna would have been married now. Would he have been happier? Stannis turned his attention to Robert and Cersei, sitting together on the raised royal platform. Robert was drinking heavily, clapping and cheering. Cersei looked like she’d rather be anywhere else than sitting there next to him.

It was incredible how much Robert had changed from that young man, betrothed to the girl of his dream, the girl who was a sister to his chosen brother. It was the best possible match, Stannis had heard Robert telling Cressen. Formalizing the bond between Robert and Ned. They would be related by marriage, a true family. And he had adored Lyanna Stark, his letters and conversations had been all about her.

The change had happened so gradually, Stannis did not notice when Robert finally looked the way he did now. Fat, bloated, angry. In despair most of the time. Ned, who had not seen him in nine years, must have been shocked. Robert hated ruling, hated the endless council meetings and keeping courts with people braying and asking for things - land, gold, title, justice, vengeance. Hated counting coins. Had said more than once that he wished Jon Arryn or Ned had been king instead.

But it had to be Robert, because he had the greater claim. Even though the greater injustice had been visited on Ned Stark by the Mad King. Ned had lost a father, a brother, and a sister. Robert had only lost his betrothed.

Stannis wondered at times what kind of king Ned Stark would have been.

Stannis took his squires to the feast, too, after the tourney. That had gotten a few looks and raised eyebrows from some of the lords, but Stannis did not care. Bryen had to show Devan how to get the snails out from the shells; Devan had never eaten them before. Devan’s excitement and wonder at everything was contagious. Even the usually timid Bryen seemed very animated that day, chattering away, telling Devan about this knight and that knight. Stannis noticed Devan stealing a glance at him a few times, however. He wondered what the boy was thinking.

They were sitting at the table across from where Sansa Stark was sitting, in between Septa Mordane and Joffrey. Incredibly, the septa seemed to be getting drunker and drunker as the night went on. Joffrey was very attentive to the girl, even feeding her food with his hand at one point. Stannis was not fooled, however. He had seen enough of Joffrey’s true face to be deceived by his seeming gentleness tonight.

Arya Stark’s words came to his mind. “I don’t know why Sansa doesn’t see it,” she had said. Arya did not come to the feast either. He wondered why. But perhaps it was for the best, he thought. What Arya would have made of Joffrey’s lavish and overdone display of affection to her sister, Stannis could not even begin to imagine. No, he could imagine it actually, Arya making faces and looking on with disgust at Joffrey feeding Sansa morsels of food with his hand. Perhaps even saying something rude and insulting.

That would certainly cause another scene, and more tension between the Starks and the Lannisters.

_Why should I care? They’re Ned’s daughters, Ned’s responsibility._

He detected a strange stillness in the air. The sound of all the chatters and the songs and clanging cutlery seemed to have stopped suddenly. Only Robert’s angry voice filling the air. And Cersei’s quieter tone. She was telling him not to enter the melee the next day. Robert was not taking it kindly, being told off by his wife in front of everyone. 

 _Badly done, Cersei._ Surely she should have known by now, after years of marriage to this man, that this was the surest way to ensure that he _would_ enter the melee.

She would know that, the thought occurred to Stannis, she was no fool, Cersei Lannister. Then why? Why did she bring up the subject to Robert now, instead of in the privacy of their bedchamber?

As Stannis watched Cersei walking away, Robert cursing and spilling wine on his clothes, the answer came to him. _She wants him to be in the melee._

Robert would never change his mind now. His pride would not let him.

But why? Why would Cersei want this? Surely Robert would be safe enough in the melee. No one would dare strike the king, no matter the rules of the competition.

No one except someone paid by the Lannisters to do so.

_Remember what happened to Jon Arryn._

That thought propelled him to his feet, before he could truly consider what he was going to do. He strode briskly to the raised dais where Robert was sitting. Renly was there too, bringing Robert a new goblet of wine to replace the one Robert had spilled earlier. Renly was smiling and telling Robert to calm down, which Robert did not take too kindly either, continuing to mutter under his breath. He was very, very drunk, Stannis could see that. And could smell it on his breath.

“You cannot enter the melee. You must not!” In his alarm, he had not considered the effect those words would have on Robert. Robert was furious, perhaps more furious than he had been earlier with Cersei. His hand swiftly knocked over the wine goblet Renly was holding out, the content spilling all over Stannis.

“First my wife, now my brother. Always telling me what I can and cannot do. I’m sick of it!” He glared at Stannis, anger and extreme annoyance in his eyes. And something else. Something resembling … hatred? Stannis was used to the first two emotions coming from Robert. But not the last. At least not this blatantly.

_Oh I’m such a fool! In Robert’s eyes, I am no better than Cersei._

He turned around and walked away without saying another word. He heard Renly’s voice calling his name, felt every pair of eyes in the area watching him, heard every whisper and mutter. He ignored all of it.

 _It doesn’t matter._ His mind repeated that phrase, over and over again. His squires followed him silently back to his quarters.

It was the faces of his mother and his father, swimming into his consciousness before merciful sleep could come, that made him seek out Ned Stark that night. There was no other choice, he knew.

Devan was waiting outside his bedchamber. _Why is the boy not in bed?_ He had gotten dressed himself, thinking that Devan and Bryen must be in the land of dreams by then.

“Should I come with you, my lord?”

“No,” he brusquely replied. “Go back to bed, I don’t need you.”

Devan hesitated. “Do you need the guards to accompany you, my lord? It’s very late, it could be dangerous walking alone.”

Stannis exploded. “I am not a child needing a guard for protection.”

The boy did not flinch. Stannis was surprised at his tenacity. He wondered if Davos had said something to his son.

“Did your father give you any direction before he left?” Stannis asked.

Devan looked down, shuffling his feet. A boy of eleven, Stannis reminded himself. Still a child. Only two years older than Shireen.

He finally looked up, meeting Stannis’ gaze with clear, calm eyes. “Father bid me to keep your lordship safe.”

 _That is too much to ask of a boy, Ser Davos._ He looked at Devan, and replied in a gentler tone. “Bringing guards with me to where I am going will only invite questions. It could be more dangerous, better for me to go alone.”

“But if you go in secret and try to hide it, and they see you anyway, won’t that invite more questions and suspicions?” Devan countered.

The boy was actually making a good point. He was going to the Tower of the Hand. If he went unconcealed, no one would think twice about it, they would assume it was to discuss the business of the realm. Rigid Stannis Baratheon, bothering Ned Stark even late at night. 

“Fine,” he told Devan. “Get two of the guards.” Devan nodded and leave.

He told his guards to wait outside, once they reached the Tower. One of Ned’s guards escorted him to Ned’s study. They were met by Arya Stark on the second staircase.  She was wearing her daytime clothes, but obviously put on so hastily he could see her night clothes poking out underneath them.

“You should be in bed, m’lady,” the guard said.

“Thank you, Harwin. I will escort Lord Stannis to my father’s study myself,” she replied, in a tone he had never heard from her before. _She is playing lady of the manor_ , he realized. Ordering the guards and the household staff around.

_Is there no end to this child’s imagination? And play-acting?_

The guard hesitated, and was about to argue with her when Stannis interrupted. “It’s fine, Lady Arya can take me there.”

He had no time to wait for this girl to argue and debate, he needed to see Ned right away.

She walked next to him, keeping pace with his longer stride.

“Why are you not in bed? It’s very late.”

“I was. I saw you coming from my window.”

“You didn’t think I came to see you, did you?” He almost chuckled.

“Of course not.” She was offended, a sullen expression on her face.

Stannis offered her an olive branch. “I didn’t see you at the tourney. Or the feast.”

She perked up. “Did you look for me?”

It was his turn to be offended. “Of course not. I saw your sister with your septa. And another girl. But not you.”

She shrugged. “I had better things to do.”

“Like what?”

“Dancing lesson.”

“Dancing lesson? I thought you hated that. That, and needlework.”

“This is a different kind of dancing lesson. It teaches balance and agility. So I can be fast.” She started waving her arms around as if she had a sword in her hand.

“That doesn’t sound like any dancing lesson I know.”

“And of course you know a lot about dancing, my lord.”

“Sarcasm does not befit a little girl,” he snapped.

She ignored the jibe. “Well, Father found the teacher. He’s a dancing master from Braavos.”

Ned Stark seemed to have very strange notions about his daughter’s education, Stannis thought. _First myself, now a dancing master from Braavos._

They finally reached Ned’s study. He could hear voices talking inside. There must be someone else there with Ned. Arya moved to the door to knock, but Stannis stopped her.

“I’ll wait until they’re done.”

She look uncertain. “Father wouldn’t want to make you wait.”

“It’s fine. Now tell me more about this … _dancing_ lesson.” She forgot her hesitation immediately.

He moved further away from the study door, and she followed him, chattering all the way about her dancing lesson and her dancing master. The more she talked about it, the less it seemed like dancing lesson to Stannis. Although she was trying to be careful and kept repeating that it was a “dancing” lesson, it was sounding more and more like she was learning sword fighting. Albeit in a strange, unconventional way.

_Does Ned know? He engaged the master, so he must know._

“You’re learning sword fighting,” he finally said, in an accusatory tone.

Instead of looking shocked or horrified at being found out, she smiled. “I knew you’d figure it out.”

“But why do you call it dancing lesson? Is it supposed to be a secret?”

“Yes, even Sansa doesn’t know.”

“But you don’t mind me knowing.”

“You won’t tell anyone, I know that.”

“You should not trust people so easily, Arya Stark.” It was the first time he had called her by her name, to her face.

“I don’t trust you with everything, my lord,” came her reply.

She was giving him something. He had not noticed her holding it before. A letter.

“And what’s this?”

“The letter for Shireen. For your daughter. From me. You can read it if you want. To make sure I’m not being a bad influence to your child.”

She said that last sentence as if repeating something an adult had said. Had somebody here said that about her? Or to her? Cersei, perhaps?

He accepted it gravely. “Of course I will not read it, it is not meant for me.”

Suddenly, the door to the study opened and Ned walked out with another man. The captain of his household guards, Stannis recognized. They were shocked to see Stannis and Arya standing in the corridor together. Stannis felt strange.

She spoke before he could. “Lord Stannis has come to see you, Father. But he did not wish to disturb you while you are with someone else.”

“Of course. Jory, will you escort my daughter back to her room?” Ned said, looking at Arya with a stern expression.

Stannis followed Ned into his study.

“I’m sorry for keeping you waiting. If I had known that you were outside … Arya was not bothering you, was she?”

“No. Not at all. I’m the one who should apologize for coming without notice, this late at night.”

Stannis decided to forgo all the pleasantries and went straight to the point, lest he was tempted to change his mind.

“Robert is planning to enter the melee tomorrow. You must stop him.”

Ned seemed taken aback by the abruptness of his statement, and the forcefulness of his tone.

“Yes, Jory was just telling me. It’s a bad idea, of course. No one will dare strike him during the melee. Who would dare to strike the king and risk his displeasure?”

“No!” Stannis almost shouted. “Someone _might_ strike him, that’s the point. They might use the chaos during the melee to harm Robert, even kill him. That’s why you have to stop him.” He put the emphasis on “you.”

“But surely … yes, Robert might not be the fighter and the man that he was, but as I said, none of the other participants would dare to strike the king. Which is why he should not enter, because it would make a complete mockery of the competition.”

Stannis sighed. How could Ned not see it? His frustration was mounting. “Did Jory tell you what happened at the feast?”

“About Robert yelling and making a scene? Yes. It was not very smart of the queen to forbid him from entering the melee in front of everyone. It was sure to raise Robert’s ire.”

“And what better way to ensure that he _will_ enter it? Because of his pride. After his wife told him not to, in full hearing of his brothers and all the assembled lords and knights? What better way for the queen and the Lannisters to ensure Robert’s participation?”

The truth slowly dawned on Ned. He looked horrified. “But surely she, they, would not go that far. Not yet.”

“They did with Lord Arryn. They probably know you and I have been asking questions. Worried we might know what Lord Arryn knew, and tell Robert.”

“Wouldn’t they have targeted us first, instead of Robert?”

“Too risky. Robert loves you, if something happens to you, he will not let it go that easily. Better to aim straight for the head. If Robert dies, Joffrey becomes king, and whatever proof we have by then, it will not matter.”

“So you think there is someone in the melee paid to do the job?

“I believe so. They cannot just depend on the chance that Robert will be accidentally killed. As you said, under normal circumstance, no one would dare strike him.”

“But it would be taking a big chance. We would know immediately who strikes the blow.”

“Not necessarily, with all the chaos in the melee.”

Ned moved quickly. “Then we must tell Robert right away.”

Stannis did not follow him. “Stannis?”

“No, not tonight,” Stannis replied. “He drank enough wine to bring down a horse. And you cannot tell him about the plot, you must convince him by other means.”

“But why not? If his life is in danger, surely we must tell him.”

“For one thing, we have no definite proof. And what do you think Robert will do if you tell him about it?”

Ned answered immediately, to Stannis’ relief. “He would say, the hell with all of them, I will show them I’m still capable of fighting and killing.”

 _Now you understand, Ned_.

“What should we do?” Ned asked.

“You have to convince him using other arguments. The one you were saying earlier, about how it would make a mockery of the event, since no one would dare strike a king.”

It must have finally dawned on Ned that they were talking at cross-purposes. That Ned was saying “we”, and Stannis was saying “you” throughout the conversation.

“We must see him early, on the morrow, before the tourney starts.” Ned was watching Stannis’ face carefully.

Stannis shook his head. “No. No, it has to come from you, and you alone. I tried tonight, and before I could really say anything, Robert flew into a rage.”

“But you said so yourself, he was drunk tonight. Perhaps he would be more sensible to reason tomorrow.”

“Not from me. You are the only person who can convince him. Trust me on this, Ned. I know my brother.”

“I don’t think I know him anymore,” Ned said, with a gloomy expression.

“Well, he’s twice the size he was the last time you saw him,” Stannis said dryly.

That got a smile from Ned. But the smile quickly faded, replaced by the saddest expression Stannis had ever seen on Ned Stark’s face.

“But he’s not twice the man that he was. He-” Ned stopped abruptly. Stannis understood. Ned would have felt that it was a betrayal, criticizing Robert in front of his brother.

“Still, he will listen to you, even if he will not listen to anyone else,” Stannis continued.

“Will he? He didn’t listen to me when I pleaded for Sansa’s direwolf. That wolf did nothing wrong, she was nowhere close to Joffrey at the time.”

Stannis had no answer to give Ned Stark. No comfort or reassurance to offer.

_You’re asking for them from the wrong person, Ned._

Ned continued. “I think you’re giving too much credence to the notion that I can convince Robert of anything. Or that I am the only one who can.”

“If you can’t, then I fear everything is lost.”

All this time, despite all of his anger and bitterness towards Ned, he had been putting his hopes on Ned’s ability to talk to Robert. To convince him. But what if that was an illusion too?

They were staring at each other, their own despair and fear mirrored on the other’s face. Ned was the first to look away. He walked to the side table, poured wine into two goblets and offered one to Stannis. Stannis was about to turn him down, but Ned’s expression stopped him. He took the goblet with a nod.

“Well, we can’t despair yet, or be defeatists. Too much is at stake. If neither one of us can convince him, perhaps the two of us together might have a better chance.”

_Oh Ned! Were you not listening to anything I said?  
_

He shook his head. “No, this is a case where two people working together is worse than one person doing it alone. Coming from me, the counsel would only have the same effect as Cersei forbidding him from entering the melee in front of everyone. His pride would never allow him to actually listen to me, or take my counsel. Robert has no love for me, or for anything I have to say.”

“And _your_ pride has blinded you to the fact that he _has_ listened to you over the years. Took your counsel, valued them, in fact.”

Stannis snorted, and replied with derision. “Hardly true.”

Ned looked as if he wanted to say more. Much, much more. But the look Stannis was giving him must have warned him off. He let out a heavy sigh, as if the weight of the world was resting on his shoulders. He walked over to Stannis slowly, and put his hands on Stannis’ shoulders. Stannis struggled not to flinch from the touch. He had seen Robert and Ned do more than this, embracing, hugging, backslapping. Brothers in arms. Brothers. 

“You might not believe me about Robert valuing your counsel, but believe me when I tell you that I need you with me tomorrow. To talk to him.”

This time, it was Stannis who had to look away. The intensity of Ned’s gaze made him uncomfortable.

“I cannot do this on my own, Stannis. And no matter what you say, I know that you love him. You love your brother. You would not wish for any harm to come to him.”


	6. Tourney of the Hand (b)

He was late. He was seldom, if ever, late for anything, but he was late this morning. _Ned must think I have changed my mind_ , he thought, rushing from his quarters to the tourney arena. He cursed himself again for not waking at his usual hours.

He had the dream again. The dream about the day Robert left for the Eyrie. The dream that always managed to confound him. Memory and non-memory interweaving so seamlessly, he could not distinguish while in the dream what was real and what was not. What had truly happened, and what he only wished had happened.

He had no trouble distinguishing between reality and wish-fulfillment in his waking hours. Could still see them so clearly in his mind, his father and mother, standing on the castle steps. Mother holding baby Renly in her arms. Father embracing Robert, clapping his back. Mother’s look of disapproval, which she had not managed to completely hide behind the tight smile.

Stannis had heard her arguing with Father earlier. “It’s too early, he’s only a boy,” she had insisted.

“Other boys are fostered much younger than this. And it is a great honor that Lord Arryn agreed to foster him,” Stannis’ father had replied.

“Robert will grow up far away and isolated from his brothers. He will not know Renly at all. And he and Stannis, they will grow further and further apart.”

“He will be back home for visits. And perhaps it will be a good thing for Stannis, getting out from under his brother’s shadow for a while.”

“Just because Robert is not physically here does not mean his shadow won’t be. And it will not make that relationship better, the two of them being away from each other.”

Mother had been right on both counts.

Robert had been excited about going to the Eyrie. Had not seemed scared or worried at all about leaving his home and his family to live with strangers. There had been that one moment, one very brief moment, however, where Stannis thought he had detected a crack in the face Robert was presenting to the world. After Robert had embraced everyone; Mother, Father, Maester Cressen, Great Uncle Harbert, baby Renly. Everyone except Stannis.

Their mother had given Robert a pointed look, and Stannis too, so they both had moved forward to embrace. The most awkward embrace of all. And Robert was not even looking at Stannis. He was looking behind him, at the castle he was about to leave, the home he would not see for many moons to come. In that all too brief moment, Stannis had seen the uncertainty and the worry, and perhaps even fear. But before Stannis could say anything, Robert had let go of the embrace, turned around and quickly walked to his saddled horse.

Stannis thought of that moment from time to time. _If only I had said something. Anything._

But what could he have said? In the dreams, he had chased after Robert as he walked away, touched Robert’s shoulder when he finally caught up with him. Robert had turned back to look at Stannis. The dream always ended at that point, before Stannis could say anything.

He had that dream again, after hearing about Lyanna Stark’s death. Only that time, the dream had continued a little longer, with Robert looking at him expectantly, Stannis opening his mouth to speak, and nothing had come out. Reality ended up mirroring the dream; when he saw Robert for the first time after Lyanna’s death, he had nothing to say either. No words of condolences or comfort had passed his lips, in dream or reality.

_It was never about missed opportunities. I would not have known what to say to Robert. I don’t know him the way Ned does._

_Excuses_ , a voice replied in his head. _Yes, you were separated as children, but you have been by his side at King’s Landing for fourteen years._ _Ned has not seen Robert in nine years, and yet here they are, like brothers again._ _It is not about distance and separation._

 _Then what is it about?_ He asked. 

The voice had no answer.

He was expecting Ned to be inside Robert’s pavilion, but there were only Robert and his two squires there. Robert was cursing and gesturing at them, as they futilely tried to fit him with his armor.

“What do you want?” He growled at Stannis.

Ned walked in before Stannis could reply. “I was looking at the body of Jon’s former squire, the one defeated by Gregor Clegane,” Ned whispered. “Later,” he continued, to answer Stannis’ questioning look. Robert noticed them, and growled again. “What? What are you two plotting over there?”

Ned said simply, “Council business, Your Grace.” They watched silently as Lancel Lannister and the other squire kept trying to put the armor on Robert.

Finally Ned said, “You’re too fat, it will never fit, Your Grace.” There was a shocked silence at first, followed by a loud guffaw from Robert. 

_If I had said that to him, in front of his squires and Ned, he would do more than spill wine on me. He certainly would not have laughed.  
_

Stannis was mystified when Robert then told his squires to look for a breastplate stretcher. Was Robert drunk this early in the morning? Very probable, Stannis thought. He spotted a horn filled with dark liquid. Beer this morning, instead of wine. There was no such thing as a breastplate stretcher, but Robert’s squires rushed out to find it anyway. A joke. No, a trick played on them. Not funny at all, Stannis thought.

Yet Ned was smiling, and Robert was laughing again. Louder this time. Stannis’ stony expression, not laughing or smiling, did not escape Robert’s notice.

“Ah Ned, why did you have to bring doom and gloom here? Look at him, Ned. My brother. Always disapproving of me. Won’t even laugh at my jokes. Disapproving of everybody. Standing there, grinding his teeth, judging everyone and everything all the time.”

Stannis remained stone-faced. Ned looked uncomfortable. Robert picked up his horn,  and drowned a big gulp of the beer. He looked at Stannis for a long moment, and  looked away again.

“The wine did not ruin your coat, did it? Your squire was able to clean it? If not, Lancel can show him a trick or two. That boy is good for cleaning and washing up, at least,” Robert chuckled, looking and sounding awkward suddenly.

Ned looked mystified. Stannis had not told him about that part. Stannis said nothing, in reply to Robert, or in reply to Ned’s questioning glance.

Robert sounded peevish now. “It was your fault, you know. Telling me what to do at the feast. You and my wife both.”

“Stannis and the queen are hardly the same,” Ned replied, after seeing that Stannis was still not going to reply.

Robert snorted. “You don’t know the half of it, Ned. The things I have to put up with, all the whining and complaining I have to listen to. And the two of them deriding each other. _Your brother this, the Lannister that._ And the sniping. Oh the sniping! Day after day after day. Enough to drive a man to drink and despair.”

Another laugh, bitter and mocking this time. “Perhaps I should have let Tywin Lannister be content with his daughter marrying the king’s brother. Can you see it, Ned? Stannis and Cersei. Now that’s a pairing for the ages.”

Stannis shuddered at the thought. Robert continued. “Mind you, Cersei is a hundred times more comely than that wife of his he left at Dragonstone. Who knows, maybe with Cersei you could have roused yourself to produce a few sons, eh?”

Stannis finally had enough. “I’m surprised you even remember what happened last night. Not too drunk, I take it?”

“Oh here it comes. Another lecture on too much drinking, too much whoring, too much everything.” Robert rolled his eyes.

“You can drink all you wish in your own chamber. But falling over drunk and making a scene in public do not befit a king.”

Ned looked at Stannis pointedly, as if to remind him the purpose of this visit. Stannis stopped talking.

“That’s it?” Robert said, after a while. “You should hear him Ned, when he really got started. Not just about my drinking, but everything else too. How I’m ruining the kingdom with all the borrowing, how I’m spending too much gold, how I should not be trusting the Lannisters. I’m such a disappointing king in my brother’s eyes. Perhaps he thinks that damn Rhaegar would have made a better king. Or perhaps Stannis thinks he would be a better king,” Robert said, with a sneer. “I don’t know why I keep him here in the council. I should send him back to Dragonstone.”

Stannis had not realized that he had been grinding his teeth and clenching his jaw so hard, until he tried to talk and it took some time for the words to come out. “Command it then, Your Grace. I will sail to Dragonstone before the ink is dry on the parchment.”

They stared at each other, Stannis and Robert. _What am I doing? I need to be here to see things through._ But Robert had provoked him so, as he always did. _Ned is here, Ned can handle things. Better than I can._ Ned looked alarmed.

“He’s in your council because you need him, Your Grace. Your brother’s counsel has served you well. Even Jon said so.”

Robert cooled down at the mention of Jon Arryn. He looked away from Stannis. “Damn you and Jon both, Ned. It should have been you or him sitting on that throne, not me.”

 _Of course he would listen to Ned, but not to me._ But this time, Stannis’ resentment towards Ned didn’t last long.

Ned was looking at  Robert sadly. “You had the better claim. And you’re king now. That is the only thing that matters. And you cannot participate in the melee.”

Robert looked irritated. “Not you too, Ned? I’m still a good fighter, I can crush them all.”

“You will crush them all because none would dare strike the king.”

Robert smashed the horn with a thud on the table, and bellowed. “Are you saying those damn cowards will let me win?” Stannis was shocked, he had never heard Robert shouting at Ned before. Did not think such a thing was possible, in truth.

Ned did not react, did not seem angry or hurt. He calmly replied, “Of course they will.”

“Is that your opinion as well?” Robert pointed his finger at Stannis.

_Should I answer? Will knowing that I believe this too only hardens Robert’s resolve to enter the melee? Or are Ned’s words sufficient to offset that effect?_

“Well?” Robert said impatiently.

“Yes, it is. It will be making a mockery of the tourney. To have you declared the winner of the melee, when everyone could see the only reason for your victory is fear. Fear of striking a king.”

Stannis spied Ned flinching and shaking his head slowly from the corner of his eyes. Was that too harsh?

But instead of shouting or yelling, as Stannis and possibly Ned had expected, Robert seemed deflated. He sat down behind the table, drank more beer. “I suppose no one actually believes I can win this on merit.” He looked at Stannis and Ned pointedly. Neither of them answered at first, but Ned finally said, “None of us are the young men that we were before. You’re the king now. Your task is ruling. Leave the fighting to your knights.”

“You’re right of course. I can’t fight in the melee. Seven hells Ned! Sitting on this throne is worse than being a prisoner, I can’t even hit and fight anyone when I want to. You don’t know how -” Robert stopped suddenly, realizing that he was not alone with Ned in the pavilion. He looked at Stannis. “Don’t you have better things to do? Checking and rechecking Littlefinger’s numbers and calculations, perhaps? Or lecturing Renly to be more vigilant about the Commander of the City Watch?”

“Janos Slynt is corrupt and merely looking out for his own gain. As Master of Law, Renly-“

“The way he goes on and on about it, you’d think he wants to be Master of everything, Coin, Law, not to mention the Hand,” Robert interrupted.

“If you had appointed capable people-“

“Leave us. I need to speak with my Hand. Alone.”

Dismissed like he was a common squire. Or a serving boy. Stannis walked out without another word. He attended neither the tourney nor the feast that day. Robert would probably accuse him of sulking, he knew.

_Let him._

Ned sought him out in his chamber later that night. Asked him if he had heard what happened at the tourney, with Gregor Clegane and Loras Tyrell. Stannis nodded stiffly. He had spent the day stewing, angry with himself for letting Ned convince him that they should see Robert together.

“But we did convince him not to fight, and without arousing his suspicion regarding _our_ suspicion,” Ned implored. 

“You could have done a better job by yourself. It was your words he listened to in the end. Why did you want me there? To watch me being humiliated by my brother?”

Ned finally reached the end of his patience. Exasperated, he raised his voice. “I don’t have time for Baratheon brothers and your stubborn pride. This is not just about Robert, but about my family. The Lannisters tried to kill my son!”

That silenced Stannis.

“What?”

Ned told Stannis about his wife coming to King’s Landing, about the attempt on Bran’s life, about the dagger that Littlefinger claimed had belonged to Tyrion Lannister. Stannis was skeptical. Tywin, Jaime or Cersei Lannister, yes. But why would the one Lannister barely acknowledged as a Lannister by his family involved himself in the matter? 

 _Perhaps to prove himself to his father and siblings. Look at me, I will do this craven deed for you. Will you accept me now?_ The possible answer came.

And yet, the source of the information was not a person Stannis was inclined to believe that easily. And it baffled him, Littlefinger being the source of that information. He had assumed that Littlefinger was working in concert with the Lannisters all along. But perhaps he had been underestimating the man. Perhaps all the while Littlefinger had a plan and a scheme all of his own making.

Or perhaps it was a ploy by the Lannisters, hoping that Ned would be reckless enough to show his hand and accuse them openly of the misdeeds. Without infallible evidence. He did not think Ned Stark a reckless man, but men, and women, were known to do desperate things when the safety of their children was at stake.

“Perhaps it would be wise to hold off on making any formal accusation, before we can find the proof that Tyrion Lannister is in fact responsible. Littlefinger … well, he is a less than reliable source in my eyes,” Stannis said.

Ned nodded. “I agree. There’s something else, too. I had a visit from Lord Varys tonight, before I came here. He told me the same thing you had suspected earlier. Except in his case, it was more than mere suspicions. He heard it from one of his little birds, he claimed. That the Lannister might have paid someone in the melee to struck the mortal blow. To kill Robert.”

“He knew this and he’s only telling you this tonight? After the tourney?” Stannis asked, incredulous.

“He claimed it was because he did not know if he could trust me before,” Ned replied.

“A very convenient answer.”

“Indeed.”

“That adds another thing to the list,” Stannis mused aloud.

“The list?” Ned asked.

“Of the things we must find proof for. First, that Robert is not the father of Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen,. Second, that the Lannisters are responsible for Jon Arryn’s death. And third, that Tyrion Lannister, or another Lannister, is responsible for the attempt on your son’s life.”

“If we could find proof for the second and third item, then that proves the first by implication, does it not? They would not have done those deeds unless the first is true, and they are trying to hide it.”

“Very probable, yes, but not definite. And finding the proof for those deeds is more complicated. The man they paid to harm Robert in the melee must be far away from the city by now. If he is still alive, that is. The same with whoever they paid to poison Lord Arryn.”

They agreed to stick with the original plan, and made plans to visit the brothels to seek out Robert’s probable bastards.

Ned looked exhausted. He sat down heavily, and asked for a cup of water.

“Would you rather have wine instead? I will call for my squire.”

“No, just water. I am sorry, Stannis. Perhaps you were right, I should have gone to see Robert on my own.”

Stannis nodded.

“I did not know things had become so contentious between the two of you. Robert had never spoken of you that way, when you are not in the room. The things he said-,” Ned shuddered. He continued. “But you said quite a few things yourself, harsh, unkind things.”

“Yes, somehow we always bring out the worst in each other.”

“Not unusual for brothers. Or sisters,” Ned chuckled. He was probably thinking of his daughters, Stannis thought.

“Not you and your brothers, I’m sure,” Stannis replied.

Ned seemed to be considering it. “Not Benjen and me, true, but then we’re quite far apart in years.”

“He must worship the ground you walk on.”

Ned laughed. “No, no. He has too high an opinion of his unworthy brother, that is all.”

“And Brandon?” He did not know why he had asked that question. “Forgive me, that is not my concern.”

Ned smiled. “No need to apologize, we’re only two men talking.” He took a deep breath. “I was eight when I was sent to the Eyrie. And Brandon had left Winterfell to be fostered himself the year before. We … did not know much about each other. I thought we would have all the time in the world, later. But Brandon died. Too soon. Lyanna too.”

He looked at Stannis meaningfully. Said very very softly, “Your brother survived the war. That’s something to be thankful for.”

Stannis did not know how to reply to that, so he stayed silent.

Ned continued. “And you and Renly survived the siege. Robert was relieved, very relieved. Perhaps he did not show it to you, or to Renly, but he was. The Baratheon brothers all survived the war.”

 _But we remember only the good about the dead. Never the bad_ , Stannis thought. If he had died during the siege, Robert would probably remember him fondly. It was the living who had to deal with the mundane and the tedious, the disagreements and the arguments. The living who constantly disappoint and fall short of expectations.

But he could not say that to Ned, Stannis knew. Ned Stark would willingly endure a thousand disagreements and arguments with his father, brother and sister, if only they would live.

Ned cleared his throat. “Forgive me. Imposing on you with all this talk about my family.”

“No, it’s not an imposition. People don’t usually confide with me. I’m not a sympathetic ear, I never know what to say.”

“Words are overrated. Sometimes there is truly nothing to be said.” Ned paused, lost in thought. “I have wondered at times, about fostering. If it does more bad than good,” he continued.

“Is that why your sons are not fostered?”

“Robb, our eldest, he will be Lord of Winterfell one day. And I want him to grow up at Winterfell, learning how to rule. Instead of going away and being a stranger to the people he will someday rule. They should know him, and he should know them. That’s important. Bran and Rickon, they are too young still.” Another pause. “I suppose Bran will never be fostered now. Not in his condition.”

“Has he … recovered?”

“He has woken up, yes. But our maester said he will never walk again. Never climb the castle walls again, or run outside with his brothers again. Never learn to fight, ride a horse, marry a woman, father a child.” His voice started breaking. “Forgive me,” Ned said, looking down.

Stannis thought of that dream again, chasing after Robert, Robert turning back only to be met with silence from Stannis. _This isn’t a dream, this is real_ , he reminded himself. Here and now, in this room. He still did not have any words of comfort to offer. But as Ned said, sometimes there is genuinely nothing to be said.

He moved his hand across the distance between them, hovering above Ned’s left shoulder for a while. Pushed himself to do it. His hand touching Ned’s shoulder, giving it a quick squeeze. He was about to remove his hand when Ned looked up with a curious expression on his face. Stannis did not know what that expression was, had never seen it in anyone’s face looking at him before. Gratitude? Surely not, not for something so inconsequential as a hand on his shoulder. But he kept his hand on Ned’s shoulder nonetheless. They stared at each other for a long while, enveloped by a calm silence, thinking of broken and damaged children.


	7. Family

Lancel Lannister, son of Ser Kevan Lannister, Lord Tywin Lannister’s still-living brother. Robert’s other squire was the son of the dead brother, Stannis reminded himself. 

_So many Lannisters. And the throne deep in debt to Tywin Lannister as well. Dislodging them and their myriads of influences will not be an easy task._

“What?” He barked at the young man. He could see the resemblance to Jaime Lannister, as had been remarked by many, in Lancel’s features. But not the charm and the easy smile that came as naturally as breathing to Jaime. This young man looked only terrified.

“The queen … the queen requested your presence in her study, my lord.”

Cersei? Stannis was immediately wary. Yet to refuse would only arouse her suspicion.

_Best to watch our steps carefully, until Ned and I could find conclusive evidence of all her misdeeds._

She was all smiles as she greeted him, but her green eyes were warily studying him.

 _Careful_ , he reminded himself.

“Lord Stannis, there you are. Forgive me for the summon, but I missed the chance to speak to you after the Small Council meeting this morning.”

Lancel had worded it as a request, not a summon.

“Not at all. What do you wish to speak to me about?”

“I thought it is time to invite Lord Stark and his lovely daughters to have dinner with us. Robert, myself and the children. Not a feast, only a small, intimate dinner. I wonder if you might like to come? Lord Renly has agreed to attend.”

“Would it not be preferable only to have your family and the Starks? I would not wish to intrude on this dinner,” Stannis replied stiffly.

“Oh I don’t think I could do _that_. It _has_ been such a long time since Lord Renly and yourself were our guests. We wouldn’t want people to speculate about the nature of the relationship between the king and his blood brothers, and the king and Lord Stark now would we?”

 _You should have invited us well before this then_ , Stannis thought. Cersei was the one who made all the arrangements and chose all the guests; Robert barely noticed there _were_ dinner guests, let alone who they were.

“Will you come?”

He desperately wanted to refuse; the mere thought of the dinner was making him grind his teeth. And yet her challenging expression and her wary eyes watching him, studying him, told him that refusing would not be a prudent move.

_She suspects something. Either about me, or Ned, or both of us._

“Of course. I would be honored. When is the dinner?”

“It’s tonight.”

He and Ned had arranged to visit the brothels and the armory the next morning. Stannis wondered if Cersei had any inkling of that, if she had deliberately planned the timing of the dinner. Surely not, he thought. _Ned and I were very careful._

“Is there anyone in particular you wish to sit next to?” Cersei asked.

“That is up to you as the hostess, of course.” Stannis replied. _What is she up to?_ He wondered.

“I thought perhaps you might like to sit next to one of Ned’s daughters. The … well, the less polished one. Arya. Poor girl. She has so much to learn about civilized court life. Not at all like her graceful sister.”

Her condescending tone irritated him. “I hardly know the girl. Or her sister for that matter,” Stannis replied. 

She cocked her head to the side as if supremely baffled. “Oh? Only I have heard that you and Arya have struck an _interesting_ friendship.”

“Hardly. I gave the child one lesson on Baratheon history, on her father’s request. That is all.”

“Well, it seems like you and the poor girl have much in common. Perhaps you would have a lot to talk about. I do hate for my guests to feel restless or bored during my dinners.”

He restrained himself from asking if Jaime Lannister would be at the dinner, not trusting his ability to say Jaime’s name to her without arousing her suspicion.

_Best not to mention his name at all. And best not to look at him if he is present at the dinner. Robert should have listened to Ned and sent him to the Wall.  
_

Not talking to Jaime would not be a problem, Stannis thought. He and Jaime Lannister had probably exchanged less than a few dozen words in all their years in King’s Landing together. What he had always perceived as Jaime’s frivolity offended him. And yet there were also times when Stannis wondered if there was something else underneath the charming smiles and the too-obvious good look. Stannis had seen Jaime’s smiles curdled into bored smirks when Jaime thought no one was watching.

_We all thought we were passing judgment on him, but perhaps the Kingslayer is the harshest judge of all._

When did it start, Cersei and Jaime? When they were growing up? Stannis found it hard to believe that the great and mighty Tywin Lannister, the supposedly brilliant Tywin Lannister, had missed the signs, had not known this about his own children.

 _Hard to believe, but not impossible,_ a voice argued in his head. _You know so little about your own child after all._

He was not looking forward to the dinner, and timed his walk from his quarters to arrive precisely on time. To his surprise, everyone was already seated, even Renly, who was notorious for being late for everything.

“If you’re invited to dinner, you could at least make the effort to arrive on time, and not keep everyone else waiting,” Robert said crossly. He was sitting at one end of the table, with Cersei at the other end.

 _But I am on time_ , Stannis thought. He glanced at Cersei, only to be met by her challenging gaze. She must have deliberately told him the wrong time. But telling Robert that would only result in another rant about his brother and his wife constantly bickering and sniping, Stannis knew. He decided to hold his tongue this time.

_Perhaps I am learning something from Ned Stark after all._

“My apology. Shall we begin?”

Robert picked up his spoon and started gulping his soup impatiently. Everyone else started eating as well. Stannis grudgingly admired Cersei’s arrangement of the guests. This woman knew what she was doing. He could detect the plotting and the scheming behind each placement. Ned and himself on either side of Robert, to emphasize the great disparity in how Robert treated Ned, and how he treated his own brother. And also to sow more discord between Robert and Stannis, as well as Ned and Stannis.

And Robert did not disappoint, spending the night talking only with Ned, reminiscing about growing up at the Eyrie, about the war, ignoring Stannis completely. Ned seemed uncomfortable and tried to bring Stannis into the conversation a few times, but Stannis resolutely ignored him.

 _It’s better this way. For Cersei to think her plotting and scheming is succeeding._ _For her to think that I am still as bitter and envious of Ned and Robert as I was._

 _You still are_ , that voice argued again. _It’s not just for Cersei’s benefit, ignoring Ned’s attempt to include you in their conversation. You_ are _angry._ He shut the voice down. Now was not the time to argue with himself.

Joffrey was sitting on his mother’s left, next to Sansa Stark. He did not seem as attentive to the girl as he was during the tourney feast. Stannis caught Cersei glaring at Joffrey pointedly a few times, and each time, Joffrey would turn to Sansa, talking to her quietly, smiling a smile that was actually less a smile and more a grimace. Stannis had not paid much attention to Ned Stark’s older daughter, he never had any reason to. But even he could see that she was losing the initial excitement and enthusiasm that was apparent on her face when she first arrived at King’s Landing. This girl looked more wary in the eyes, more hesitant. And possibly more jaded.

True to her words, Cersei had put Arya Stark next to Stannis. Next to her was Renly, who was chatting away entertaining Myrcella and Tommen. He was regaling them with the tales of the exploits of his good friend Ser Loras Tyrell, imitating the knight’s voice and making funny expressions. Myrcella and Tommen were giggling and laughing. Even Cersei laughed a few times.

He was wary about talking to Arya, after what Cersei said earlier. Yet he felt sorry for the girl. Renly was not paying her the slightest bit of attention, never even turning to look at her, let alone to converse with her. “She’s strange, that girl,” Renly had said to Stannis once. “Like a girl who doesn’t really want to be a girl. No one will want to marry her if her father doesn’t start training her better.” Ironic, coming from Renly, Stannis thought.

Arya had tried to start a conversation with Stannis a few times, but he had rebuffed her effort each time, only nodding or shaking his head in reply to her questions. She finally kept silent, toying with her food, barely eating. Ned noticed his daughter’s misery, and smiled at her from across the table. She winked at him in return.

She saw Stannis watching the interaction. Leaned over to him and whispered, “Where are you and Father planning to go tomorrow?” Stannis was shocked. How did she know? Surely Ned did not tell his daughter about their plan.

“Council matter,” he replied. She raised her eyebrows, but said nothing else. She turned away from him, watching Tommen and Myrcella laughing and having fun. Myrcella smiled at her. To his surprise, Arya returned the smile. A really sweet smile he had never seen from her before.

 _How close are they?_ He wondered. At times he forgot that the truth, when revealed, will affect not only Joffrey, but Myrcella and Tommen as well.

“I received a letter from Shireen,” Arya whispered to him again.

“Why are you whispering, child? Speak properly,” he replied impatiently.

She was sullen. “I don’t know, I thought perhaps … never mind.” She brightened again, as she talked about the letter. “Don’t you want to know what she wrote to me?”

“No. She wrote the letter to you, not to me. And it would not be appropriate for you to tell me.”

“So Shireen didn’t tell you what I wrote to her?”

“No.”

“She didn’t mention me at all in her letter to you?”

“No.”

Arya looked disappointed. Stannis was curious as to why.

“What is it now? She replied to your letter, did she not? What else were you expecting?”

“Nothing! I don’t know. I thought Shireen might be excited about my letter. Excited enough to at least mention it to her father. I was so excited when I got _her_ letter I ran to Father’s study to tell him, and almost hurt myself slipping on the stairs. But she must not be excited at all about my letter, if she didn’t even mention me, or the letter, to you.”

 _One of those things is not like the other,_ Stannis thought. Arya and her father, Shireen and _her_ father, as different as night and day, as different as ice and fire. Shireen’s letters to him were always very formal and correct, as were his letters to her. His daughter was capable of joy and excitement, he had seen her laugh and smile with other people. Just not with her father. Whom she feared.

That was not something he could tell Arya Stark. It was not something this child sitting next to him would understand. This child who just winked at her own father from across the dinner table. This child who had almost hurt herself running up the stairs because she was so excited to tell her father something.

She would not understand what it was like to fear your own father.

“My daughter doesn’t tell me everything,” he said instead.

The dinner was winding down, they were on the last course of the night. Robert was getting louder and more garrulous by the minute, a sure sign he had drunk more than enough wine.

“A toast,” Robert suddenly shouted. “To Ned and his lovely daughters.”

Goblets were raised. Even from Tommen, Myrcella and Arya, who were only drinking water.

Robert continued. “And to Sansa, who will be queen some day. May she bring more happiness and joy to her husband than the current queen does to hers.”

Silence. Cersei glared at Robert, who avoided her gaze and continued drinking. Sansa looked mortified. Joffrey looked angry. Myrcella looked confused. And Tommen, Tommen continued eating his pudding as if nothing had happened. Renly’s amused expression did not come as a surprise to Stannis, but Arya’s snigger did. Ned was too busy trying to stop Robert from making another toast to notice what his daughter was doing. Cersei, however, definitely noticed Arya’s reaction.

“Stop it! Stop it right now.” Stannis admonished her in a low voice. Arya fell silent immediately,

“These poor girls, without their mother’s guidance to show them how to properly behave in front of others. Perhaps it is time to send for your wife, Lord Stark.” Cersei’s voice was all honey, but Stannis could hear the venom underneath.

Ned looked completely mystified, having missed Arya’s embarrassing display earlier.

Stannis spoke before Ned could. “Hardly the girls’ fault, or Lord Stark’s. The only one behaving improperly tonight is my brother.”

Renly laughed. “Which brother is that, Stannis? You disapprove of us both so strongly, it’s hard to tell who you are criticizing sometimes.”

Cersei interrupted before Stannis could reply to Renly. “Why Lord Stannis! I did not know that you and Lord Stark have become so close that you feel compelled to defend him, even when he is not being attacked. I was merely making an observation about mothers and daughters. I cannot imagine being separated from my dear Myrcella myself. But I suppose not all mothers feel the same way.”

“Enough!” Robert shouted, smashing his wine goblet on the table with a loud thud. “The next time you and Stannis want to bicker, you can go to another room and leave the rest of us in peace.”

Ned looked like he was about to say something in protest. Stannis stared at him and shook his head slightly. _Don’t. Not now. Not here._ Cersei was already suspicious about their relationship. Ned defending Stannis would only deepen her suspicion.

“Will you tell my father about … about what I did?” Arya asked him as they were leaving the table.

“No, I will not. But _you_ will,” he replied.

And she did indeed tell her father, as Stannis found out the next day when Ned thanked him for his intervention.

“Arya … can be a handful. Stubborn. Our septa has almost given up on teaching her the usual things girls are supposed to learn. Needlework, how to behave in court. But she has a good heart,” Ned said.

“All children are different, my own mother used to say. What worked for one child might not work for another,” Stannis replied, and immediately regretted it. He had said too much. Perhaps Ned would take it as a rebuke, an implied criticism of his parenting.

Instead, Ned merely laughed. “Oh yes, I agree. Cat and I are constantly amazed at how different our children are from each other. Their likes and dislikes, the things that made them cry out in pain, or in joy. Even the way each of them suckled at her breast was different, Cat said.” Ned’s face lighted up talking about his wife. Stannis imagined them sitting in front of the fireplace at the end of a long and tiring day, perhaps in their bedchamber, or perhaps in the study, talking about their children. Arya was very naughty today, she might say. But then she would tell him about Arya’s exploits and they would laugh, together.

The thought filled him with a sudden anger. Anger he could not comprehend at all. And something else too. A feeling he could not even begin to decipher. No, a feeling he did not want to decipher.

He thought of Arya Stark suddenly, telling him that she was sorry for what she had said to him because “it made you sad.” A child’s word, sad. An inadequate word, he thought. A poor substitute for despair.

_This is what comes of talking too much about personal matters. We are not here to chatter about family, but to complete an important task._

“We should visit the armory first, to look at the armorer’s apprentice. You will understand all when you see the boy. After that, we can proceed to the other establishments. The brothels,” Stannis said curtly. He did not hide his distaste at the thought of visiting those establishments.

Jory Cassel was trying mightily to hide a smile. Ned had brought the captain of his household guards with him. Stannis had come alone; his squires were too young to be exposed to the kind of place they were going to, and Stannis did not trust anyone else in King’s Landing. Ned gave Jory a warning look, and his expression immediately turned blank again. The story must have spread to Ned’s household, about the time Stannis had proposed outlawing brothels and whorehouses. His proposal, and Robert’s reaction to it, must have been a great source of laughter and sniggers in Ned’s household.

But probably not from Ned. Hopefully not from Ned. He did not know why that should matter to him, but somehow it did.

When they arrived at the armory, he told the serving girl to fetch Gendry. The boy came out, recognizing him immediately from the previous visit.

“Lord Stannis,” he said. “I was sorry to hear about Lord Arryn’s death, m’lord. He was kind to me when you both came that time.”

Stannis was not certain if the words were meant as an intentional knock on him. _Lord Arryn was kind and you were not._ He remembered the boy as being combative enough for that. No matter. He had not said anything to the boy the last time he was here.

“Lord Arryn’s death was a great loss,” he replied stiffly. Ned was silent, not saying anything. Stannis turned to look at him. Ned was staring at Gendry, transfixed.

_He must see it too, the resemblance._

Not just the hair, black as night, or the eyes, blue as ice. But also the way the boy carried himself, with the confidence and the swagger of the young Robert Baratheon. Even though they were raised in vastly different circumstances.

But it was not wise for Ned to stare at the boy for too long. The boy might suspect something, which could put him in danger.

“Ned,” Stannis said, with an edge in his voice.

That woke Ned from his reverie. He reverted to the line he and Stannis had planned earlier. “Lord Stannis tells me your work is superb. Do you mind showing them to me? I would like to commission a few for my household guards.”

The boy seemed wary, but a stern nod from Stannis made up his mind. “Of course. Let me show you.” He escorted them inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for still reading :D I know the story is moving a tad slow plot-wise (probably an understatement, hehe), but I'm interested in exploring the different interactions as well, especially between characters that never interacted in the books. Hopefully I haven't gone overboard into lala -land!


	8. Mothers

“She had yellow hair, and she used to sing to me, m’lord. My mother. I told Lord Arryn that too.” The boy paused and glanced at Stannis. “But Lord Stannis must have told you that, and the other things too.” Another pause. “I suppose you’re checking my story. To see if it’s the same. To see if I was making things up and all.”

 _At least he is no fool, this boy_ , Stannis thought. _But perhaps too smart for his own good._

Ned smiled. “I only want to hear it from your own mouth, Gendry. What songs did your mother sing to you?”

“What do you need to hear it from me for? Don’t you trust Lord Stannis?” The boy answered the question with his own questions.

Stannis scowled and glared at the boy. He returned the glare, before looking down and mumbling. “I don’t remember. Songs about dragons, and the old kings. Not the Targaryens, the ones before they came with their dragons. The _old_ old kings, you could say.”

The boy had told Ned everything he had told Jon Arryn, and more. That first visit, it had surprised Stannis that the boy had been so forthcoming to Lord Arryn, who after all was a complete stranger to him. He looked the sullen, suspicious type, not to mention stubborn, and Stannis would not have thought him the type to be so forthcoming.

 _But perhaps no one had ever asked him about his mother before_ , Stannis had thought later. Never had a chance to speak of his mother to anyone, before Jon Arryn with his kind, fatherly ways had asked him about her. Stannis had thought it prudent to stay silent during that visit, and to leave the questioning to Jon Arryn, thinking that would induce the boy to speak more freely. He had not been wrong.

“I need to speak to your master now, Gendry. Lord Stannis has a few more questions for you,” Ned said.

“I am a working man, m’lords. I can’t be answering questions all day long,” Gendry replied in a sullen tone.

“Mind your tongue, boy. That’s the king’s brother wanting to talk to you.” Tobho Mott the master armorer suddenly appeared at the door. He escorted Ned to the other room. There was an extended silence as Stannis and Gendry stared at each other.

“Do you have any other family? Uncles, grandparents? Cousins, perhaps?” Stannis finally asked.

“Why? What’s that to you, m’lord?”

“Just answer the question!”

“No. No one. No one I know anyway. My mother never spoke of her family, if they were all dead, or if they threw her away, like. For having me, and no one knowing who the father was.” Gendry was looking at his feet saying that last sentence, but he lifted up his head now and looked at Stannis with a shrewd gaze. “But you know, don’t you, m’lord? About my father. That’s why all the questions about my mother.”

“I’m not here to answer _your_ questions.”

“I don’t care. I don’t want to know. Don’t need to know. If my father doesn’t want me, why should I want him?”

 _It’s better, and safer for you, if you never find out_ , Stannis thought.

Jory was waiting for them with the horses when Ned and Stannis finally left the armory. “I’ve found something out, my lord,” he whispered to Ned.

“Not here,” Ned said. They proceeded to their next destination. Stannis had told Ned that he was more convinced that the babe at the first brothel they were going to was Robert’s, and that he had doubts about the two babes at the second brothel.

“But how could you tell, with babes?” Ned had asked.

“You will understand when you see the mothers,” Stannis had replied, and refused to explain further. 

Ned certainly did understand, the minute he laid eyes on the red-haired girl. So young, so obviously a virgin before Robert had put a child in her. A black-haired babe suckling at her mother’s breast, the mother scarcely more than a girl herself. “I have been with no one else, m’lord. Before or since. He was the only one,” she had told Stannis and Jon Arryn then, and she repeated the words to Ned now. They had believed her, Stannis and Jon Arryn. Jon Arryn had told Stannis later that her words had haunted his sleep. Not because of the confirmation of Robert’s paternity, but because of how young she was.

The two mothers at the other brothel had hair as golden as Cersei’s. Yet for the taller one, gold was certainly not her natural hair color, Stannis thought. He could see the dark roots exposed, something he did not notice during that first visit. Black. Or dark brown, perhaps. That would be her natural hair color. Her child’s black hair could have come from her, and not from the father. She noticed Stannis staring, and purred. “See something you like, my lord? Your brother was very pleased with me.” He looked away immediately, scowling. The father of this babe could have been anyone, he thought.

The other woman was nursing her sick babe in her room, the brothel owner, an oily, lecherous man Stannis distrusted on sight told them. Ned told him they would go to her, and they made their way through the corridor. A walk that felt longer than eternity to Stannis.

 _If people would insist on indulging in depravity, the least they could do is close the damn door properly!_ It never ceased to amaze him, the shamelessness of it all, as if they were proud of it. He secretly breathed a sigh of relief when they reached the room. This one, he determined, certainly was naturally endowed with golden hair. Almost the exact same shade as Cersei’s hair, he thought for a second, before chiding his thoughts. _Why would I know that? How could I know that?_

“His Grace has not graced us with his presence since Lord Arryn’s death. He is sorely missed, I can tell you that, my lords.” The brothel owner was nattering on as he escorted Ned and Stannis outside. Neither Ned nor Stannis replied. “But his squire has been around. I thought perhaps … to ask one my girls to the castle for His Grace, but sadly no. He has done that too in the past, the king. Here or in the castle, it makes no difference, my girls are very well-trained. Very well trained indeed. Satisfaction guaranteed, my lords. Satisfaction guaranteed.”

For some reason, he was looking at Stannis right in the eyes as he was saying that, smiling in a way that made Stannis wanted to strike the man. Ned interrupted before Stannis could say or do anything. “Which squire? And what did he want?”

“The older one. As to what he wanted, well, my lords, what do all men want? Pleasures, my lords, such pleasures that can only come from between a woman’s legs. But I suspect,” he was whispering conspiratorially now, “I suspect he had another reason for coming, a commission from someone perhaps, to find out certain … things. About some of my girls, and their babes, perhaps. Alas, he is such a green boy, so easily distracted by the sight of heaving bosoms and the feel of a woman’s hand. Or mouth.” The brothel owner snickered.

Stannis wished the man would not speak in such a vulgar manner. And yet, he was telling them something important. “You did not tell him about the two women we just saw, did you? And their babes?” Stannis asked.

The man looked at Stannis and Ned guardedly for a long moment, before replying. “My girls are my most valuable investments, my lords. Most valuable indeed. I have spent a lot of time and effort training them. I would not wish for any harm to come to them.”

 _But if someone, say the queen, offers to compensate you for that loss …_ Stannis shuddered at the thought. Things were moving a lot faster than he thought. ‘The older squire’ must be Lancel Lannister. Sent by the queen to find Robert’s bastards.

Ned and Stannis did not have a chance to speak again until later that night, in Ned’s study.

“One mother with yellow hair, one with red hair, two with golden hair. And yet the children are all black-haired, like Robert,” Ned said.

“No,” Stannis countered. “Only one of the women has golden hair. The other one actually has dark hair. You can see the dark roots.”

Ned was taken aback. “Which one? I did not notice.”

“The taller one, in the second brothel we visited,” Stannis replied. “The one who … who spoke to me.”

“The mother who was nursing her sick babe, her hair is almost the exact shade as the queen’s golden hair. Her child is black-haired, not golden-haired like the queen’s children,” Ned continued.

Stannis was relieved he was not the only one who had noticed that. Ned had made the same observation about Cersei’s hair. Perhaps it was not unusual for a man to notice those things about a woman.

“But she is not a Lannister, the woman in the brothel.” Stannis raised the same objection he had raised to Jon Arryn before. “Even if we find all of Robert’s bastards and show that whatever hair color the mothers have, the children will always have black hair, the Lannisters could always point out that none of those women are Lannisters. They could claim that the Lannisters are different, that somehow their blood is stronger. And the children of a Baratheon-Lannister union are golden-haired like the Lannisters, even if the children of a Baratheon union with anyone else are black-haired. Our _proof_ is not yet conclusive.”

“That’s what we need!” Ned said excitedly. “If we can show that the children of other Baratheon-Lannister unions besides Robert and the queen were also black-haired, then we have our evidence.”

“There isn’t any other Baratheon-Lannister union in the present generation,” Stannis said. “There are a few in the past. I will ask my maester if there was such a record being kept, about the hair color of the children. It seems unlikely,” he mused. A sudden thought struck him. “Perhaps such a record does exist after all. Perhaps that was the book Jon Arryn borrowed from Grand Maester Pycelle.”

“Then I must ask him for it right away,” Ned said.

“No,” Stannis replied. “Too dangerous. The queen is already suspicious, we know that from the dinner, and the fact that she sent Lancel to the brothel. If we ask Pycelle for the book, he will tell her, you can be sure of that.”

“How do we get hold of the book, if not by asking him?”

“We’ll have to think of something else. But there is another matter that is more pressing. This Lancel business. The queen was obviously looking for Robert’s bastards. Perhaps to erase the evidence. The proof that her children are not sired by Robert.”

“But even if she kills them all, there are still other bastards outside King’s Landing,” Ned protested. “She must know that.”

“I don’t think she knows about Robert’s bastard at the Vale, very few people do. There were rumors about the twins Robert fathered at Casterly Rock a few years ago when he was there to attend a tourney. Cersei had them killed, according to the story. Which leaves only one. Edric Storm.” Stannis gritted his teeth saying the name. He had not forgotten the manner in which the boy was conceived. “The only bastard my brother acknowledged. One boy is not enough proof, however. They could point to Edric’s black hair and say, that is only because Florent blood is not as strong as Lannister blood. We need to get those children out of King’s Landing. The babes and the mothers. To safeguard the evidence.”

“And to safeguard their lives,” Ned reminded him gently. “Gendry too,” Ned continued. “He could be in danger too.”

“But we have not heard about the queen sending anyone to Tobho Mott’s armory.”

“Yes, but Jory told me that he spoke to a few of the other apprentices at the armory. Apparently it’s common knowledge who the boy’s father is. It is the stuff of japes and jokes for the others. The boy himself does not seem to know, but it is common talk. No wonder, considering the way he looks. The queen will hear of that too, soon, if she has not already.”

“Yes, Gendry too, then,” Stannis said.

“How will we get them out?” Ned asked.

“The brothel owners must be paid, of course,” Stannis said distastefully, “or they will not consent to part with their _investments_.” The thought sickened him. If it were up to him, they would all be sent to the dungeon. And yet he knew it had to be done. “I have sent for Ser Davos, the babes and their mothers will sail with him to Dragonstone. Probably the safest place for them. Who would suspect after all, whores at Dragonstone.” Stannis laughed bitterly.

“They are mothers, the mothers of your brother’s children,” Ned said sternly.

“His bastards,” Stannis replied, in a harsher tone than Ned’s had been. They stared at each other, each unwilling to give way.

_Are we to quarrel over semantics? Mothers or whores. Children or bastards._

“It is not the children’s fault, however they were conceived,” Ned said.

“But it’s the parents’ fault,” Stannis replied. The blood drained from Ned’s face. Stannis realized, too late, that all this talk of bastards was not merely about Robert for Ned. Ned had fathered a bastard too. Had not only acknowledged the boy as his bastard, but had brought the boy to live with them at Winterfell, to be raised alongside his true-born children. Stannis wondered what Lady Stark had thought of that.

They were still staring at each other, Ned’s expression grim and dark. _This is not the time for us to quarrel._ Stannis looked away first, deliberately. “We will just have to agree to disagree about certain things, Ned.”

Ned hesitated, before replying. “Of course. I apologize.”

“No, don’t apologize. There is no need-“

“I was too harsh-“

“It is only a disagreement, it happens-“

They were tripping over each other’s words, speaking at the same time. Finally Ned laughed. Even Stannis could not help smiling. The smile faded quickly as he remembered their purpose.

“What about Gendry? Tobho Mott will not part with him that easily, not if he is paid to keep the boy as his apprentice. Any luck finding out who paid for Gendry’s apprenticeship?” That had been a question Stannis and Jon Arryn had not thought to ask, but Ned had wondered about.

“No, Tobho Mott said he did not know the man. I believe him. He described the man who paid for Gendry’s apprenticeship, but it is not anyone I recognize. If we offer him a larger payment, perhaps he would let the boy go.”

“But would the boy agree to leave? He is no longer a babe, and a stubborn boy at that.” 

“I will deal with Gendry,” Ned said.

“Perhaps that is best. He does not seem overly fond of me,” Stannis said drily. “And we must do something about Lancel Lannister,” he continued. “He cannot stay as my brother’s squire, when he is obviously under the queen’s direction. We were worried about someone being paid to harm Robert at the melee, but the danger could be closer to home.”

“Perhaps if we tell Robert that Lancel was frequenting brothels-“

Stannis rolled his eyes. “That would not sway Robert, he frequents brothels as well. He’d clap Lancel on his back and say ‘good job, boy’.”

“You’re right,” Ned said. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I must be tired.”

“We’re all tired,” Stannis said softly, softer than his voice usually was. “But we must carry on. Too much is at stake. For the realm, for Robert, for your son as well.”

_But how to get rid of Lancel Lannister?_

He thought of something Renly had told him. About Mace Tyrell complaining that both of Robert’s royal squires were Lannisters. House Tyrell was the second richest house in the kingdom after House Lannister, they also provided debt to the throne, and yet no member of their House was considered for the post of royal squires. Stannis shuddered at the thought of a Tyrell as Robert’s squire, the memory of the siege was never far from his mind. And yet he could not think of another solution to the Lancel problem. It had to be done. This was the only way to force Robert’s hand.

Not one of Mace Tyrell’s sons, Stannis thought. His eldest was crippled, the other two were already knighted. Loras Tyrell had mentioned a great-grandson of Ser Moryn Tyrell, the uncle of Mace Tyrell. Luthor Tyrell. The boy was at the right age to be a squire.

He told Ned about the plan. Ned was skeptical at first. “The queen and Lord Tywin will not easily accept a Lannister squire being relieved from his post to be replaced by a Tyrell,” he pointed out.

“Robert should knight Lancel Lannister, he’s old enought for that. Even the queen and Lord Tywin can’t oppose a knighthood. Tell Robert that Mace Tyrell is getting restless, that he has to appease him in some small way. Robert knows how much I despise the Tyrells, if the suggestion comes from me, he might suspect something.” 

Ned nodded. He hesitated, before asking another question. “How did you come to suspect the queen and Jaime Lannister in the first place? Surely not just because of the hair color. You have seen those children since they were babes.”

“It was a look. Between Cersei and Jaime. During a feast. Robert was drunk, groping a serving girl, making a scene as he usually does. He fell down and broke some dishes, embarrassing his wife, his children, everyone else. Jaime Lannister was helping Robert back to his seat, and I saw this look passing between him and Cersei.”

“What look? Disgust at Robert?”

“There was that, at first. But then something else too. Don’t ask me to describe it Ned, I can’t. But I _know_ that look, I know what it means, I have seen it elsewhere. I saw it on your face, and your wife’s face, when you came back to Winterfell after we defeated the Greyjoys. I saw it on Robert’s face, when he talked about Lyanna. I saw it on my mother’s face, and my father’s face. Not just lust. If it was only lust, it would not be so dangerous, or terrifying. Lust can be fleeting. It can fade, with the passing of time, with the fading of youth, beauty, charm, excitement. But this other thing-“

“Love,” Ned said softly.

Stannis nodded. “I don’t blame you if you don’t believe me. What would Stannis Baratheon know about love? Especially that kind of love.” He laughed bitterly again.

“We’re all capable of love,” was Ned’s reply.

Stannis suddenly felt profoundly uncomfortable. He wanted to change the subject, and yet his thoughts turned to love again. Something he had always wanted to ask Ned. “Did Lyanna love Robert? The way he loved her? I’ve often wondered about that.”

It was Ned’s turn to look uncomfortable. “We can’t know for certain what is in someone’s heart, even those closest to us,” he finally said.

That was answer enough for Stannis.

As he was leaving, he spotted Arya Stark in the corridor outside Ned’s study, balancing on one leg, eyes closed, concentrating hard. “What are you doing?” He asked.

“Balancing,” she replied, eyes still closed.

“Why?”

“For my, you know, _dancing_ lesson.”

He raised his eyebrows and said nothing. As he was walking away, he heard her say, “I told father. About laughing at the dinner.”

He turned around. “I know. Did he punish you?”

“No,” she answered sheepishly, eyes wide open now. “You don’t approve, I suppose? If I were your daughter, you’d punish me. No dancing lesson for a week. And needlework lesson with Septa Mordane twice a day.”

_If you were my daughter you would not be the girl that you are now.  
_

“Father only said not to do it again. And to be more careful with the queen. Why do I have to be more careful with the queen? Is she dangerous?” 

There was something in her expression as she was asking him the question that bothered Stannis. He had the sense that this child knew more than she should.

“Children should always be more careful around adults. Treat them with respect.” He knew how inadequate his answer was, but he had no choice.

She sighed. “Sometimes I think you’re different than other people, but then you say something like that. Septa Mordane would have said that. Or Maester Luwin.”

“They’re not bad people, surely?”

“No. I’m very fond of them. Even Septa Mordane, when she’s not scolding me for not being as good as Sansa, of course. But I expect them to say things like that. Not you.”

“Don’t expect too much from other people,” he replied.


	9. Brother, Husband, Father

“I don’t know how Ned Stark does it.” Renly’s voice was full of awe. “How did he convince Robert to make Luthor Tyrell a royal squire? _And_ to get rid of that wretched Lannister boy. Always scurrying around, that one. Do you know, I half-suspect him of spying for our _dear_ sister-in-law. Not just spying on Robert, but on us too. The way that boy looked at me sometimes. And at you too.”

Too many questions from Renly was worrying. Stannis was not yet ready to share the secret with him. Renly could be reckless and impetuous. Who knew who he would tell, or what he would do.

“Perhaps Robert was just ready to make Lancel Lannister a knight. Nothing to do with what Ned Stark said or did,” Stannis snapped.

Renly laughed. “Oh Stannis, still not ready to accept that Robert would rather listen to Ned’s counsel than to your own?”

He ignored the jibe. “I suppose Lord Tyrell is very pleased?”

“Very pleased indeed. He had given up hope on it ever happening, in fact.”

The thought of Mace Tyrell being very pleased turned Stannis’ stomach. _It had to be done_ , he reminded himself. A Tyrell was preferable to a spying Lannister.

“And is there anything else the great Lord Tyrell would like from the king?” Stannis asked pointedly.

Renly looked clueless. Ned had asked Stannis, merely as an aside during one of their conversations planning their next step, if Renly was planning to wed soon. Stannis was shocked, he had not heard anything about that.

“No, he has not said anything to me. But I suppose I am not the first person my brother would confide to. Why? Have you heard anything?”

Ned seemed to regret bringing up the subject. “No, not anything in particular. Only, I assume … because, well, he showed me a picture of a girl. And asked me if she resembles my sister.”

“Do you know the girl?”

“A sister of Ser Loras Tyrell, according to Renly. A beautiful girl, but no, she does not look like Lyanna at all.”

Ned seemed to find the whole thing strange, but Stannis only found it enraging. Renly married to a Tyrell? A Tyrell as the lady of Storm’s End? The daughter of the man who feasted within the sight of their walls while good people were starving inside, giving orders to the servants at Storm’s End? It was perverse.

“Are you planning to wed Mace Tyrell’s daughter?” He asked Renly directly now.

Renly looked at him incredulously, before breaking into another laugh. Louder and longer this time. “What in the name of the Seven gave you that idea?”

“Mace Tyrell’s unbridled ambition, for one,” Stannis replied contemptuously. 

“Oh let it go, brother. It’s been fourteen years since the war ended. Robert pardoned them a long time ago.” He paused, before continuing. “I don’t think I’m the marrying type, to be honest. But I suppose I have to, don’t I? Marry someone, I mean. To sire an heir for Storm’s End.”

Renly’s voice was tinged with a melancholic edge, something Stannis never associated with his brother. And he was looking at Stannis with a strange expression on his face. It reminded Stannis of Renly’s face as a boy, pleading and begging Stannis to write to Robert one more time, to ask him to come home for a visit. 

“I can’t force him to come if he doesn’t want to!” Stannis had finally snapped, after Renly had kept at it for days. Stannis had already written two letters, another one was not likely to sway Robert any better. “The Eyrie’s his home now. And this is _our_ home.”

Renly had burst into tears. “Liar!” He had shouted between sobs. “You don’t want him here, you’re the one keeping him away.”

He had hated Renly looking at him with that expression then, and he still hated it now. He had no clue what Renly wanted or needed from him most of the time. And even when he did know, even when Renly _did_ tell him what he wanted or needed, more often than not, he was powerless to give it to him. He could not make Robert come home to Storm’s End more often. He could not stop the Tyrell and the Redwyne forces from besieging Storm’s End. He could not stop people from starving to death within their walls.

_What does he want from me now? What does he want me to say? What does he need me to tell him?_

The truth was the only thing Stannis could always give his brother. “Of course you have to marry, and father an heir. It is your duty.”

He did not miss Renly’s look of disappointment, very brief as it was. Renly scoffed at the mention of duty. “Duty. It’s always about duty for you.”

“We all have to do our duty,” Stannis replied.

“ _You_ have always done your duty. Tell me brother, what has that gotten you? Not Storm’s End, certainly not the position of Hand. You did your duty and wed that ugly wife of yours because Robert needed to appease the Florents after he pardoned the Tyrells. Did that make you happy? You didn’t even get a son and heir from that.”

“Enough!” His hand was halfway to Renly’s cheek before he realized it. He struggled to bring it down again. Renly was watching him, fascinated.

“You’ve never tried to strike me before, not even as a boy, when you were always complaining about me, and yelling at me.”

“You’re not a boy now.”

“No, I am not. And I will not be treated like one.”

“Then stop behaving like a spoilt child!”

Renly opened his mouth to answer, but seemed to change his mind suddenly. He smiled. “I’m going to be the adult in this conversation, and end the pointless bickering. But tell me this, why did you ask me about marrying Margaery Tyrell? What have you heard?”

Stannis did not reply. Renly spoke instead. “It’s Ned, isn’t it? Ned Stark. I showed Margaery’s picture to him. He must have told you about it.”

Stannis stayed silent. Renly continued. “Varys was right after all, you and Ned _are_ getting close. Going around everywhere together, secret meetings in his study and your study.”

“What?” Stannis asked sharply. “When did Lord Varys say that?” This was dangerous territory.

“After a small council meeting one morning, after you and Ned had left. We were all laughing, not believing him. _“Everyone knows Lord Stannis would rather Lord Stark be catapulted back to Winterfell this instant, if such a thing is possible,”_ Littlefinger said. Robert was not laughing though. You should have seen the look on Robert’s face. He was not pleased, I can tell you that.”

Renly was watching Stannis’ face carefully. Stannis struggled to maintain a blank expression. Renly continued. “Well, whatever it is you and Ned are up to, just be careful. You are not the only one capable of envy and jealousy. Robert would not be happy to find himself replaced in Ned’s affection by his own brother.”

Stannis snorted. “That’s ridiculous. The things you say sometimes. Do you ever actually listen to yourself?”

Renly’s expression was grave. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. You may think me silly and frivolous, Stannis, but I know more about human nature than you do. I understand people better. I like people, you see, I like being around them. You don’t. You keep away from everybody and hold yourself back from everyone.”

“You like being admired and praised, that is all,” Stannis snapped.

Renly chuckled. “That too, of course. And loved. I also like being loved. What’s wrong with all that?”

Stannis was exasperated. How to even begin to explain how wrong it was? He brought the conversation back to the important question. “If you’re not going to marry Margaery Tyrell, then what is the plan? Who is Mace Tyrell planning to wed his daughter to? Joffrey? Joffrey is already betrothed to Sansa Stark, you know that. And Tommen is too young still.”

Renly looked evasive. “You and Ned have your secret, and I have mine.” He took his leave before Stannis could ask any more questions.

Stannis paced back and forth in his solar, trying to figure out Mace Tyrell’s plan. And yet his thoughts kept going back to that look on Renly’s face. In truth, he knew what Renly wanted him to say. Had known it for a while now. That look he had seen passing between Cersei and Jaime, which had clued him to their secret; he had seen it passing between Renly and Loras Tyrell on more than one occasion.

But there was no choice. Renly was Lord of Storm’s End. It was his duty to marry a woman and father an heir. Stannis would have told him the same thing, even if the other man had not been Mace Tyrell’s son.

He wondered if Renly knew. Knew that Stannis knew. And was hoping that Stannis would say … what, exactly?

_Even if I tell you what you want to hear, it will not change the facts. I cannot change the world for you, brother. Our duty remains our duty._

He was interrupted by Devan telling him that his wife and daughter had arrived, with Davos. The journey was faster than expected, he was not expecting them to arrive until the next day. Selyse had written to him saying that Shireen was missing her father. And since Davos was sailing to King’s Landing, she and Shireen would join him. Stannis had not been back to Dragonstone for months, there was too much to do after Lord Arryn’s death.

“Well, we should greet them then,” he told Devan. The boy must be excited to see his father, even though his expression was inscrutable. An inscrutability carefully maintained, Stannis decided. He could still detect the excitement lurking underneath.

That’s the normal reaction, excitement about seeing loved ones after a long separation. Why then did he feel only dread at seeing his wife and daughter? Thinking of all the awkwardness to come, how uncomfortable they would be around him. And he around them. _They are probably dreading it too_ , he suddenly realized.

They were already walking inside when Stannis got to the courtyard. His wife was holding Shireen’s hand, Davos and one of Selyse’s lady’s maid were walking behind them. Selyse stopped walking when she saw Stannis. “My lord husband.” She nodded to Shireen, and Shireen spoke. “My lord father.”

Stannis nodded, and replied, “My lady.” And after a slight hesitation, “Shireen.” Shireen had been looking down at the ground, but lifted her head slightly hearing his words and smiled. But she quickly brought her head down again, as if afraid her father would see the smile and disapprove.

Devan was bowing his head to Selyse and Shireen. “My lady.” Selyse studied the boy carefully, and said nothing. Shireen smiled, a longer smile this time. Devan greeted his father with practiced courtesy too. “Father.” But after Stannis and his wife and daughter started walking inside, Stannis glanced back and saw Davos embracing his son, as if he never wanted to let go. He saw Devan’s look of pure joy too. He thought of Ned Stark smiling at his daughter across the dinner table, and Arya Stark winking at her father. He suddenly wanted nothing more in the world than to take his daughter’s hand and hold it while they were walking. But he had never done that before, he was worried that it might alarm her, or frighten her even.

Stannis had wanted to speak with Davos as soon as he arrived, but thought he should give Davos some time with his son. Stannis had paid off the brothel owners, with disgust, and the mothers and babes were now hidden at an inn close to the port, guarded by two of Ned’s household guards. Ned trusted them completely, and Stannis distrusted them less than the other possibilities, since they were not from King’s Landing. Ned was still working on convincing the boy Gendry to leave King’s Landing as well.

He would have to tell Selyse to stay longer at King’s Landing and not leave with Davos. He did not want her asking questions about the woman and children Davos was escorting to Dragonstone.

They retired to his solar after dinner. He had asked his daughter about Maester Cressen and Patchface, and she was telling him about them. He was only half-listening however, still obsessing about Mace Tyrell and his plan for his daughter Margaery. And how was Renly connected to it? After a while, he realized the room had gone quiet. He did not know how long it had been since his daughter had stopped speaking. He was shocked to see that he was alone with his wife in the room. She was staring forlornly out the window. 

“Where is Shireen?”

She turned to face him. “I have sent her to bed. She is tired, poor child.”

All at once, she started talking about this red priestess he had heard so much about from Cressen. Cressen’s last few letters had been full of tales about the priestess, and his fear about the spreading of her religion.

_Your lady wife and many of her family, including Ser Axell your own castellan have converted, my lord. Abandoned the religion of our forefathers for this foreign god._

Why anyone would go to the trouble of exchanging one god for another when they were all worthless was something Stannis could not understand. And yet he had to read Cressen’s dire warning about the dangers of abandoning the Seven, and listen to his wife prattling on about this Lord of Light. All pointless. Pointless talk about pointless gods.

He interrupted her. “I don’t want to hear about this god, or any god. I don’t believe in any of them. Is that the reason you wanted to come to King’s Landing? To prattle about this new god?”

“No, I came because our daughter misses her father. And your wife misses her husband.”

Stony silence from Stannis. She continued. “We need to try again, for a son. Dragonstone might be lost to our family otherwise.”

The change of subject baffled him. “Dragonstone will be Shireen’s after my death,” he snapped. “That’s the law, if she has no brother.”

“But your brother could take it back, to give to one of his sons, with the excuse that it will be lost to the Baratheons otherwise. It will not be truly hers, but her husband’s. Her husband will rule as Lord of Dragonstone, not her. Your brother could use that as an excuse to take Dragonstone away from her. Unless … unless of course Shireen weds one of Robert’s son. Not Joffrey, he’s already betrothed, but Tommen, perhaps? That will secure her legacy. And Tommen is kind to Shireen, he does not mock her or make fun of her the way Joffrey does.”

Stannis was aghast. Shireen married to Tommen? His daughter married to the product of Lannister incest? He would never allow it.

“No!” 

“Why not? Do you think our daughter is not good enough for a prince?”

Their chilly courtesy phase had ended. This was the heated argument phase. He was used to the cycle now.

 _He’s not a prince_ , he wanted to say. Instead he said, “This is not a good place for her, King’s Landing. People are false and cruel here.”

“What will happen to her, after you’re gone? After we’re both gone? If your brother does take away Dragonstone to give to his own son? Or if Joffrey is already king then. That boy has never liked Shireen, or me. Shireen will have to leave her home, the only home she has ever known.” Selyse sounded desperate, and angry.

“She will marry, be the mistress of another castle. You left your home too when you married me.”

“Will she? Marry and be the mistress of another castle? When even her own father does not think her good enough for his nephew?”

“That is not what I said!” He shouted.

“And when she will have inherited nothing from her father to bring to her marriage. How many suitors will come knocking at her door? Have you spent even a minute worrying about our daughter’s future?”

He had not. Shamefully, he had to admit that he had not. When he thought of his daughter, he thought of her as a girl forever, running around Aegon’s Garden with Patchface, taking her lessons with Maester Cressen, whispering to her mother and laughing at her reply. Dragonstone was Shireen’s home, he could not imagine her elsewhere. 

“If we have a son, Dragonstone will be secured. Even if Shireen never marries, she will still have a home, with her brother. And that is why I was telling you about the Lord of Light. Melisandre said-“

“I am sick of hearing that name.”

She retreated. “Perhaps we will speak of it another time.”

 _Never, would be a better option_ , he thought.

He was thinking of their match. The Florents had been happy when Robert had suggested the marriage, as a gesture to appease them. The Tyrells had fought against Robert during the war, while the Florents had come to Robert’s side in defiance of their liege lord, with the expectation that once the war was over, Robert would reward them for it and make them lord of the Reach and Highgarden. Something House Florent had always believed was _their_ right instead of House Tyrell, through a superior line of descent.

Instead, Robert had pardoned Mace Tyrell, House Tyrell had stayed the lord of Highgarden and the Reach, and Mace Tyrell was made Warden of the South. When Alester Florent complained, Robert promised his brother in marriage to Lord Florent’s niece. The Florents had believed that Stannis would inherit Storm’s End now that Robert was king, and Selyse Florent would be the Lady of Storm’s End. They were mollified and accepted the match. Not nearly what they were expecting, but not too bad, in their estimation.

And yet after the betrothal, Robert announced that he was giving Storm’s End to Renly. To Stannis’ younger brother. The Florents had taken it as a deliberate insult to them, but they had little choice in the matter, they did not dare incurring the king’s wrath by backing away from the betrothal. Of course the insult was compounded by Robert’s conduct during the wedding night, bedding Delena Florent on Stannis and Selyse’s marital bed. Stannis was too mired in his own anger at his brother at the time to realize how angry and insulted and shamed the Florents had felt. They had insisted and stood firm, Robert must acknowledge Delena’s child as his bastard.

He remembered how Selyse had cried that first night. He thought at the time she was crying out of shame, and feeling insulted by Robert, but now thinking back, he recalled his own anger and his own conduct that night.

 _Perhaps she was afraid of me, and my anger._ _But I was not angry with her, I was livid at my brother._

It was too late to ask her now, years after that night. _And what would be the point anyway?_ He thought.

He tried to soften his tone. “Ser Davos is sailing back to Dragonstone two days hence. Perhaps my lady and Shireen would like to stay longer at King’s Landing?”

Her face broke into a smile, before the smile slowly changed into a suspicious expression. “Ser Davos did not mention that. What haste has he that he must leave so quickly?”

“I have other commissions for him to perform,” he said evasively. 

She waited for him to say more, but he stayed resolutely silent. Finally she was the one who spoke. “Of course I will stay. I am glad to stay. A wife’s place is beside her husband, I have always thought, and a daughter beside her father.”

This was something she had hinted at plenty of times before, Selyse and Shireen staying at King’s Landing with him.

“If Dragonstone is to be deprived of its Lord, then the Lady should be there at least.”

“My dear uncle Axell is doing an admirable job as a castellan. And Dragonstone is not that far off a journey for me to make from time to time.”

 _You have nothing to reproach me with_ , he thought. _I have not been with another woman, or even look at one since our marriage. I am not my brother Robert._

“Perhaps it is time we retire,” she said, after she realized he was not going to respond to her previous statement.

“I still have a few tasks to complete. My lady should retire, and rest.”

“I shall wait for you, my lord husband.”

They were back to chilly courtesy.

“No. You must be tired after the journey, I will not keep you from your rest.”

“Not so tired that I would neglect my duty to my husband.”

He said nothing. Avoided her gaze. After a while, she sighed and left the room.

He was staring out the window, still wondering about Mace Tyrell and his plan for Margaery, when he felt like he was being watched. He had not heard anyone coming in. He turned around to see his daughter at the door, standing quietly, watching him.

At Dragonstone, he always knew when she was in the vicinity, Patchface’s bell announcing her wherever she went. But there was no Patchface here. Only Shireen. She was startled when he turned to look at her, and was about to turn around and walk out, when he called out. “What is it? Shireen?”

She walked towards him, but stopped halfway through. “I .. nothing. Only I thought Mother is still here.”

“No, she has gone to her room to rest.”

“Oh. Forgive me for disturbing you, Father.”

She made a move to walk out, but he said, as gently as he could, “Perhaps it is better not to disturb your mother. Let her rest.”

She looked chastised, as if he had accused her of some wrongdoing. “I won’t disturb her, I promise. I only want to kiss her goodnight. I do that every night at home. Mother never said it was disturbing her. Is it? Disturbing her?” The uncertain look on her face was breaking his heart. He cursed himself. He should not have said what he said.

“Of course not. I only meant, she is tired after the long journey. You must be tired too.”

He motioned for her to come closer. She walked slowly towards him. He took a seat on one of the chairs in front of the fireplace, and pointed her to the other one. She hesitated at first, before sitting down. She was not looking at him, but at the fire. He wanted to talk to her, but did not know what to say. He had asked her a question earlier in the night, and then ignored her answers. He wondered if that had made her angry.

“How was the journey?” He finally asked.

“It was windy,” she replied. “More than usual.”

He was shocked, and worried. Was there a storm? Selyse had not mentioned it.

“Was it a storm?”

“No, just the wind.”

Silence once more. She turned her face away from him to look at the fire again. The light from the flame illuminated her scarred cheek. From the greyscale. From the time she nearly died. He grasped at things to say, things to ask her. It was her who broke the silence. “Patches wanted to come with us, he followed us to the beach, but Mother said he can’t come.”

“Your mother is right. This is not the place for him.”

“Are we staying here long? Mother and me?”

“For a while, yes.” He would have to send them back to Dragonstone before he and Ned told Robert the truth, when things might get dangerous at King’s Landing.

“Patches will be lonely. No one will play with him except me.”

And she will be lonely too, without him. “Did you get the letter from Arya Stark?” He asked.

“Yes, two letters. But I’ve only replied to one, the last one arrived just before we sailed. She said she wants to be my friend.” Her expression was full of wonder. “No one ever said that to me before.”

“Patchface is your friend,” he said gravely.

“He’s not a friend, he’s just Patches,” she giggled.

“Do you want to be her friend? Arya Stark, I mean.”

“Would you like me to, Father?”

“It’s up to you, not me.”

“She sounds lonely too. Arya. But she has three brothers and a sister. And a half brother too, she wrote. How could she be lonely?” Shireen sounded very puzzled.

“They’re not here, except the sister,” Stannis replied.

“She must miss them very much.” Shireen was looking at him with eyes as big as saucers.

“I don’t know, you will have to ask her that.”

“Can she come and play with me? Here?”

“Would you like that?”

“Yes, Father. Very much.”

“You can write her a note, to invite her. Devan will send it over tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” she said gravely. She continued after a pause. “Arya said … should I call her Lady Arya?”

“I don’t think that’s necessary, you’re both still children.”

“She said you’re teaching her about Baratheon history. _Our_ family history.”

He could not decipher her expression, or her tone of voice. There was a strange note in it, something he had never heard from his daughter before.

“It was only one lesson, because her father requested it,” he replied.

“Oh.” She sounded almost relieved. But why? It was a mystery to him. Children were a mystery to him, his own daughter the biggest mystery of all.

“Will you give me a lesson too?” She was looking at him straight in the eyes, bolder than he ever recalled her being in his presence.

“But surely Maester Cressen has taught you everything? More than I could.”

She looked away, eyes downcast. _What have I said wrong now?_ He had only told her the truth.

For some reason, his thoughts turned to Great Uncle Harbert, spending days and months teaching Robert to train his hawk, and yet telling Stannis to give up on Proudwing after only a few lessons. He still remembered to this day how he had felt at the time. He was jolted into a sudden recognition. That expression on Shireen’s face, that strange note in her voice. But surely that could not be. It seemed incredible to him. And yet-

He finally decided what to say to his daughter. “If you would like me to, I can give you a lesson. Or a few. But not tomorrow, I have a busy day tomorrow. Perhaps the day after?”

She smiled, a radiant smile. “Yes, I would like that very much, Father. Thank you.”

“And now it’s time for bed.”

She stood up, hesitated for a moment before rushing towards him, moving so fast he did not realize what was happening at first. It was as if he blinked and suddenly his daughter’s arms were wrapped around him. He moved his own hands awkwardly to return the embrace. She must have sensed how uncomfortable he felt, however, for the hug ended all too quickly. She looked embarrassed and guilty suddenly, as if she had done something she should not have.

_Say something! Reassure her. Tell her she has done nothing wrong._

But his mind failed him, his voice failed him, and he failed his daughter. She was already walking out of the room.

“Good night, Father,” she said at the door.

“Good night, Shireen,” was his reply.

 _Forgive me_ , was what he was thinking, but did not manage to say.

It occurred to him that he had failed thrice that day. Failed as a brother. Failed as a husband. And most unforgivably, failed as a father.


	10. Illusions

“He wants to appoint Jaime Lannister as Warden of the East.”

“What?” Stannis turned away from the window, where he had been watching Shireen and Arya in the courtyard, to face Ned Stark.

“To replace Jon,” Ned continued.

Stannis rolled his eyes contemptuously. “Is he planning to steal Robert Arryn’s birthright too and make Jaime Lannister Lord of the Eyrie? Not surprising, I suppose, if he could give Storm's End to his youngest brother.”

“No. Robert thinks the boy is too young and sickly to be the Warden. But he will still be Lord of the Eyrie when he comes of age.”

“But why Jaime Lannister? He is not even from the east. Robert cannot do this. We will be surrounded by Lannisters on both sides, east and west.”

Ned cleared his throat. “I told Robert he should appoint you instead.”

Stannis barked out a laugh, short and bitter. “That must have gone over well. _Why Ned, that is an excellent idea! Stannis it is then._ Is that what my brother said?”

Ned dropped his gaze. Looked away from Stannis, his eyes finally settling on the two girls outside. Stannis allowed his gaze to follow Ned's. Arya was talking animatedly, hands and head moving in all directions. Shireen nodded and shook her head a few times, giggled more than once, laughed once and immediately covered her mouth with her hand.

For a while, Stannis and Ned were merely two fathers watching their respective daughters. But that was only a momentary illusion; they were who they were, and Robert was still the giant shadow hovering over them.

“It was not meant as an insult, you know. Giving you command of Dragonstone,” Ned said, without taking his eyes off Arya and Shireen.

Stannis snorted. “Of course not. It was meant as a great honor, I'm sure.”

“It was,” Ned insisted. “Robert trusted you. He needed a strong lord to rule over Dragonstone. Robert was obsessed with the possibility that the Targaryens might take Dragonstone back, and plot the invasion of Westeros from there. The way Aegon Targaryen did, hundreds of years ago.”

This was what Maester Cressen had said to Stannis too. He did not believe it coming from Cressen then, and he did not believe it coming from Ned Stark now.

Stannis scoffed. “House Targaryen after the war was reduced to the boy Viserys and his sister the babe. They were hardly able to plot or reconquer anything. No, it was meant as an insult. And a punishment. Robert blamed me … no … still blames me to this day for William Derry smuggling Viserys and his sister from Dragonstone. Never mind they were already gone by the time we got there, it was still my doing, my fault, my sin. And for that he took what was mine by rights and gave it to Renly.”

“He could have kept Storm's End and Dragonstone for his sons. He did not need to give it to his brothers at all,” Ned replied, his eyes regretfully straying from the girls to look at Stannis.

“Then he should have kept them both for himself and his sons. Instead he made Renly, a mere boy at the time, Lord of Storm's End, and then threw Dragonstone at me like throwing a bone to a dog after snatching the meat away. _Here, have your consolation prize so you will stop complaining about Storm's End._ ”

“Bone lasts longer than meat. A dog can keep gnawing on a piece of bone forever,” Ned said, smiling slightly.

The truth of that statement was not entirely lost on Stannis. And yet Ned saying that rankled him. He frowned. “I am not a dog. And it is not about which holding is richer. It is about rights. Were Dragonstone the seat for House Baratheon, I would have been content to serve as its lord.”

Ned sighed. His eyes strayed to Arya and Shireen again. Stannis did not follow suit this time. He moved away from the window and started pacing back and forth. They should not be talking about Robert, he thought. At least not about Robert and himself. They should be talking about Jaime Lannister, and Robert's wretched plan of making him Warden of the East. Why had he allowed himself to be distracted by old grievances?

 _Because these are not old grievances, but grievances still deeply resented_ , a voice answered in his head. _Enough!_ He wanted to shout, to drown out the voice. His own voice.

Ned's voice mercifully put a stop to the argument raging in his head. “You know how Robert is about the Targaryens. How much he hated … no … still hates them. Hatred that exceeded anything I could ever manage.” Ned's voice trailed off, his eyes looking at Stannis but not really seeing him, either lost in thoughts or memories, Stannis was not sure.

_What does Ned see? His father? His brother? His sister? Or Elia of Dorne and her children?_

Stannis had spent most of his life being envious of Ned Stark, but he did not envy Ned those memories.

Ned snapped back to reality, and continued. “And they were not necessarily unfounded, his fears about the Targaryens at the time. There were still people loyal to the Targaryens, even if they bended the knee to Robert. He needed you, you were the only one he trusted to hold Dragonstone.”

“Sometimes I wonder if you really know my brother as well as you think you do, Ned.” Stannis said sadly.

“Perhaps I don't know him at all now,” Ned's reply was sadder still, “but I was there when Robert was deliberating about Dragonstone. I knew his thinking then. I knew him better then.”

“And of course Robert was extolling my virtues to you. _Look how great my brother is, whatever will I do without him?_

“You held Storm’s End for a year, to the end of the war. He didn’t think you could.”

Stannis smirked. “Ahh, that’s the brother I know and love. Of course he did not think that I could.”

“He did not think anyone could. Not me, not even himself. None of us thought anyone could. But you did, and that’s why he wanted you … no … needed you to hold Dragonstone for him. Yes, it was amiss of him not to have foreseen how you would take losing Storm's End to Renly. But he never meant giving Dragonstone to you as an insult. Or a punishment.”

“He has never said that. Never.”

“Not to you, but he said it to me.”

“Of course he did. He would tell you, but not his own brother.”

“And you have never asked him.”

Stannis stared at Ned in disbelief. “Is that what he told you? That I have never asked him why he gave Storm's End to Renly?”

“You complained, you ascribed various motives to him, you accused him of deliberately insulting you. But you have never asked him his actual reason. That is what Robert told me. Is he wrong?”

Stannis searched his memory. “Why do I have to be the one to ask?” He finally asked, defensively. “Why could he not explain his reasons to me? If my complaining irritated him so much, he should have told me his actual reason to shut me up. But he never denied my accusations, he seemed to glory in them, in fact. _Yes, I gave you that worthless piece of rock because you couldn't even stop a child and a babe from escaping,_ he said once, when he was drunk.”

Ned sighed again, resigned. “I don’t know why he did not tell you. The same way I don’t know why you did not ask him. The Baratheon brothers are a mystery to me, most of the time. If you were my sons, I’d lock you in a room until you sort things out, instead of constantly thinking the worst of each other.”

Despite himself, Stannis could not help but smile slightly. “That is what my onion knight said too, once.”

Ned looked confused for a moment, before saying, “Ah, Ser Davos Seaworth. That was a good counsel, and a bold one.”

“He is not afraid to tell me the truth, always.”

“Then perhaps you should heed his counsel.”

“Perhaps it is too late.”

“Nothing is ever too late. Not while we still draw breath. Not while our head is still connected to our body.” Ned paused, looking as if he was considering his next words very carefully. “And it is of the utmost importance now, repairing the relationship between you and Robert. Not just for your sake, or for Robert's sake, but for the sake of the realm.”

Ned's words stunned Stannis. “What do you mean?”

“When we tell him the truth, about the queen and Jaime Lannister, about those children … it is vital that he believes it. That he does not think that it is merely a plot conceived to disinherit his heir, to make you his heir instead, the next in line for the throne.”

“But that's the reason that I shared my suspicion with you, the reason I'm working with you to uncover the truth. He will not believe the truth coming from me, but he will if it comes from you, Ned.”

Ned was silent for so long, Stannis began to suspect something. “Or perhaps you are doubting my intention as well? That this is merely about Stannis Baratheon, greedy for the throne? Robert will marry again, and father another heir. I will be his heir in name only, until that day arrives.”

Ned was aghast. “No! I do not doubt your intention. And the truth must be revealed. About Cersei and Jaime Lannister, about Jon's death, about the attempt on my son's life. It is not your intention that I doubt, Stannis. It is your faith in my ability to convince Robert of the truth.” Ned paused, and then continued softly, mirroring Stannis' own words earlier, “Sometimes I wonder if you understand the relationship between Robert and myself as well as you think you do, Stannis. Sometimes I wonder ...”

“Go on.”

“Never mind. It's not important.”

“The truth, Ned. We have gone too far together to start hiding things from each other, to start keeping secrets from each other.”

“Very well. The truth. Sometimes I wonder if you and Robert have fallen prey to the same vice. Robert idealizing Lyanna, remembering her as this perfect creation who was never really her. She was not just beautiful or gentle. She was flawed. And she was strong. She made mistakes, did things she regretted. I want to remember my sister for the entirety of her being, the good and the bad. That is my way of honoring her. Of loving her. Not as an icon of perfection nobody else could ever come close to. The unattainable. That is not love, that is idolatry.”

_You're not wrong, Ned. But don't try telling Robert that._

“And how have I fallen for that same vice? There is no Lyanna is my life. There never was, there never will be.”

“Robert and I, we are your Lyanna. Oh, not in the same way, of course, but in all the ways that mattered. In your eyes, we have a perfect brotherhood, something you could never have with Robert. The unattainable. And it made you … it made you ...”

“It made me envious, and bitter,” Stannis said the words Ned was too kind to say out loud.

“Yes. But it's not what you think it is, Stannis. Not really. The things that appear perfect and free of flaws from a distance, they are full of cracks and bumps and imperfections when studied closely. You've seen it too, witnessed the cracks with your own eyes since I have been in King's Landing. But you refuse to admit it.”

“Robert loves you. He will listen to you, the way he will not anyone else,” Stannis said stubbornly.

“I wish I could share your faith in that. And now, there are other complicating factors. My wife … Tyrion Lannister -” Ned paused, and seemed to change his mind. “Robert seems to be getting some strange notions about you and me.”

Stannis recalled Renly's warning, which he had dismissed as mere fancy at the time. “Does he suspect us of plotting against him?”

“No, not of plotting against him. Only-”

“He is curious why we don’t seem to be at each other’s throat? Or perhaps more to the point, why I am not constantly trying to undermine you or criticizing you? And why we seem almost cordial?”

Ned was surprised. “How did you-”

Stannis interrupted. “Lord Varys must have been whispering things in his ears. His spies must have reported our comings and goings.”

“I don’t know what Varys is trying to get Robert to believe, but I don’t believe Robert thinks we’re plotting anything against him. His … displeasure seemed more on a personal level.”

Stannis understood it all then. Renly was right after all. Incredibly, Renly had seen it all, had predicted it all.

_Oh Robert! I am not trying to steal your precious chosen brother. He is still yours. I only need him to save you from a lifetime of being deceived and being made a fool of. And to save the kingdom._

“We should see less of each other,” Stannis blurted out, and immediately realized what a strange thing it was for him to say. Ned was looking at him uncomprehendingly. Stannis continued. “Let's not give anyone any reason to suspect that we are plotting anything. If we absolutely have to meet to discuss anything, it should be at the Tower of the Hand, so no one could accuse us of anything except discussing official business of the council.”

Ned nodded. “Well, I am only here today to escort my daughter.”

“Of course.”

“I believe I can convince Robert to delay Jaime Lannister's appointment as Warden of the East. He should give fair warning to the lords sworn to House Arryn. They will not be pleased that Robert did not consider one of them for the position.”

Stannis nodded. “Just don't suggest my name for the position again. Or for anything.”

He was worried. This was not the time for Ned and Robert to quarrel. Yes, Ned had convinced him that he had been seeing the relationship between Ned and Robert through an idealized filter, but it was still a stronger relationship than what he and Robert had. Ned must remain above suspicion, beyond doubt in Robert's eyes, if the truth were to come out. If justice was to be done. Stannis decided not to share with Ned another piece of the plan. The second task he had for Davos, in addition to taking Robert's bastards and their mother to Dragonstone.

_That will be on my head, and my head only. Ned will know nothing of it, and Robert will not be able to fault him for it._

And Davos? _He is only carrying out my command_ , Stannis reasoned with himself.

Ned motioned for Arya to come in, and said, “We're leaving,” as the girls walked into the room.

Arya looked disapponted. “Now? But I want to hear more stories about Dragonstone.”

Stannis raised his eyebrows. From observing the conversation between the girls, it had not seemed to him that Arya did much of the listening at all. Or Shireen much of the talking.

Arya did not miss his gesture, and said slyly, “I don't do all the talking, Lord Stannis. Shireen has been telling me all about Dragonstone. Can I come and visit one day? To see the stone dragons and the gargoyles. Are they like the dragons King Aegon V tried to wake? And died for it?”

Shireen looked scared. Ned was chastising Arya. “They’re just stories, don’t try to scare Shireen.” He looked at Shireen and smiled gently.

“But she dreams about them, the stone dragons coming to life,” Arya exclaimed, and then immediately apologized. “I shouldn’t have told. I'm sorry.”

Shireen shook her head and smiled. “Don't worry, it's not a secret. Mother and Maester Cressen and Devan know about it too. And Patches, I told him too, but I don't know if he remembers.”

Stannis had not known. His daughter had never told him about the dream.

_And I have never bothered to ask._

“Tell me about this dream,” he asked his daughter, after Ned and Arya left. “What did the dragons do, after they woke up?”

She did not want to tell, at first. And he did not want to force her.

_Perhaps I should ask Selyse._

“They were chasing me. They wanted to eat me,” she finally said.

“Stones cannot turn into flesh and blood. Or breathe fire,” he said stiltedly. A poor attempt at comfort, he knew.

“I know. Only, it feels so real.”

“Well, it's not. And it will never be.”

“But I heard Mother and Lady ...” she stopped.

“What did you hear?”

“Nothing. I know it was only a dream, Father,” she said, with a finality that surprised him. _I don't want to talk about it anymore,_ her tone of voice was telling him loud and clear.

Stannis wondered why Arya had not mentioned the eating part. That seemed like the part that would pique her interest the most. He could see it clearly, Arya Stark casting herself in her imagination as the knight trying to slay the dragons to save Shireen.

As if Shireen knew what Stanis was thinking, she suddenly said, “I didn’t tell Arya that part. About the dragons trying to eat me.”

“Why not?”

She was shaking her head slightly. “I don't know. Because it sounds silly? I don’t want her to think I’m a silly, scared little girl.”

“You’re not. A silly or a scared little girl.”

She smiled.

“Arya Stark, on the other hand, can be very silly sometimes. You must not take her stories too seriously,” he continued.

“She’s not silly!” Shireen's voice rose. She looked mortified. “Forgive me, Father.”

“It's fine. You don't agree? That she is silly at times?”

“Arya likes stories. And imagining herself in the stories. What’s wrong with that?” Shireen asked.

 _Life is not like stories and songs_ , Stannis wanted to tell his daughter, and then recalled that he had actually said this to Shireen, a long time ago.

“Do you like that too, imagining yourself in stories?” He asked instead, this time.

“No. Not myself. I think of someone else.”

“Who?”

She looked shy suddenly, turning her face away from him.

He waited.

“You. I think of you in the stories,” she finally said, still looking away from him.

Stannis did not know what was the right way to react. “What kind of stories?” He asked.

She turned her face to look at him. “Oh, stories like Maester Cressen would tell sometimes. Stories about when you were a boy. Stories about you, uncle Robert and uncle Renly.”

He did not know what to say. He smiled, hoping that would be enough to encourage her to continue. And yet part of him did not want her to continue. It seemed an indictment of his failings as a father, that his daughter was reduced to imagining him in stories, instead of remembering the real him. The absent father.

She continued anyway. “But he doesn't tell them that often now, Maester Cressen. It makes him sad, telling the stories. So I have to make up the stories myself. But it's not a lie, because I never told anyone else, they're only for me. I know we must never lie. We must always tell the truth. You taught me that, Father,” she said solemnly.

“We must never lie to ourselves either, not just to other people.”

“Is it a lie, if I make up stories about you just for myself?”

“It's a lie if it is not true.”

“But I don't know if they're true or not.” She was fretting, brows furrowed. “And I can't ask Mother, she doesn't know either. She said she didn't know you as a boy.”

He regretted going down this path. He should have told her she could make up any stories she wanted. But it was not in him to say that, even to his daughter. No, especially to his daughter.

Why don't you tell me and I can tell you if they're true? If they really happened.”

“Can I?” She asked eagerly.

He nodded.

“You and Patches and uncle Renly playing hide and seek in our garden, just like Patches and me. And Patches could always find you like he can always find me, no matter where I try to hide. But he won't move when it's his turn to hide. Uncle Robert can't play because he's with Arya's father at the Vale.”

He shook his head. “No, that never happened. You know why?” He asked gently.

She looked stumped for a while, before inspiration struck. “Because you didn't grow up at Dragonstone. So you couldn't have played at Aegon's Garden. Of course! Silly me. A different garden then. The garden at Storm's End.”

“I was too old to play with Patchface when he came to us. And he was sick for a long time, he had to stay in his room.”

“So no one played with him at Storm's End?”

“Uncle Renly played with him sometimes.”

“But not you?”

“No.”

He was expecting her to look disappointed, as if he had shattered her illusions about him. But her face was calm and untroubled, as if she had been expecting this all along. As if she had always known that even the stories she told herself about her father were not true. As if she had never really believed in them herself.

“Are you disappointed? That I never played with Patchfa ... with Patches?”

She hesitated.

“Tell me the truth, I won't be angry.”

“I don't like thinking of him being so lonely. But you must have been busy, you had important things to do, like you do now.”

A hundred things he wanted to say. A thousand more he knew he should say. But duty interrupted. Davos had arrived. His daughter smiled, curtsied, greeted Davos and left the room. Without any preamble, Stannis told Davos about the plan he had decided not to tell Ned Stark.

 _Plenty of time_ , he thought. For all the things he needed to tell his daughter. _She's here now. Shireen. With me. With us._


	11. Blood

“Ships don’t win war, ground battles do.” That had been Robert’s dismissive words to him, two wars in a row. Two wars he had fought for his brother, even if he heard the snickers at times that he did not fight during the rebellion at all, had merely stayed at Storm’s End. Or that it was Paxter Redwyne and his forces who actually defeated the Greyjoy forces at sea, and allowed Robert, Ned and their men to cross to the Iron Islands and defeat Balon Greyjoy.

No matter. He had never fought for glory or to be valorized in songs and stories. Wars and battles and deaths were too grave a proposition for vainglorious yearnings of glory and delusions of immortality through songs and stories.

Yet was it too much to ask that his own brother at least recognized his effort? He had never expected gratitude or reward, merely a word of recognition said behind closed doors would have sufficed.

“My lord?” Davos’ voice brought him back to the here and now. To the possible coming battle.

“Sail to Lannisport through the south. It’s faster, but I also need you to stop at Dorne, to deliver a letter to Prince Doran Martell. Make sure you deliver it to his own hand, personally. Not to his brother, or his children, or anyone else.”

Davos nodded.

“Remember, your fleet’s task is not to attack, only to close off the harbor and stop the Lannister’s fleet from leaving.”

Davos looked like he had a question he wanted to ask, but he hesitated. “Speak, ser. You are in my service to counsel, not to hold your tongue,” Stannis said.

“Why involve Dorne at all? Can they be trusted?” Davos asked.

“Two reasons. First, House Martell has more reasons than most to despise Tywin Lannister. For the death of Elia Martell and her children.”

“Do they not blame your brother as much as Lord Tywin?” Davos made a reasonable query.

“I’m sure they do. But they have more quarrels with Tywin Lannister. Prince Doran has asked for Gregor Clegane to be brought to justice for years, but Tywin Lannister has always mocked and ignored the request. This will be their opportunity for justice.”

“And vengeance,” Davos pointed out. “Against Ser Gregor, yes, but also against the man who gave the order to murder Princess Elia and her children. Lord Tywin himself.”

Stannis nodded.

“And what is the second reason, my lord?”

“Dorne will never align itself with Tywin Lannister, if war does break out. But if we do not bring them to our side now, there is a possibility they might see an opportunity, amidst all the instability, to bring back the Targaryens. We can’t afford to fight two wars at once.”

Davos did not hesitate this time. “And are you really willing to risk a war for this?”

Stannis bristled at the question. “This is about the law. And I will not sit still and do nothing while my brother is being made a fool of, and a boy who has no right to the throne acknowledged as his heir.”

“I only want to be sure that you are aware of all the risks and consequences, my lord.”

“I know them. But do _you_ understand the risk and consequences? You did not ask me if this is sanctioned by my brother the king.”

“I assume His Grace the king does not yet know about the truth, otherwise it would be the Royal Fleet being sent, not ships led by myself, my lord.”

“And you do not question that?”

“I am your man, I follow your command.”

Stannis stared at Davos for a long moment. _It will be fine_ , he worked to convince himself. _Once Robert knows the truth, he will send the Royal Fleet to assist the fleet led by Davos._ If anyone was to be punished for sending a fleet to Lannisport without Robert’s knowledge, it would be him, not Davos. Davos was merely following his command.

“Leave your eldest son at Dragonstone to guard the bastards and their mothers. I do not trust anyone else for the task. They must be kept safe. They are important to prove the case against Jaime and Cersei. Perhaps a war could even be avoided. Though I really doubt it. We could prove the incest and the real paternity of Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen a thousand times over, but I doubt Tywin Lannister will accept it.”

“It is better to be prepared for the worst, in any case,” Davos replied.

________________

At dinner that night, Selyse was talking about being invited to tea with Cersei and Myrcella. Stannis was only half-listening, until she spoke about Cersei saying that it was unfair for Robert to appoint Ned as Hand of the King, and not Stannis. Cersei claimed that she would have preferred Stannis, she had thought Stannis more deserving of the job.

Stannis looked at his wife and scoffed. “You don’t actually believe her, do you? She has never liked me. Or thought highly of me at all.”

Selyse looked unperturbed. “Of course not. I am not a fool, I know how condescendingly and with contempt she views us. But she has a point nonetheless, about your brother appointing Lord Stark and not you.”

His wife had used the word “us” and not “you”, when she spoke of Cersei’s contempt. He felt almost … touched, for some strange reason.

“My brother does what he wants. He always has, and he always will.” That was the only reply he could manage, however.

Their eyes locked, and at that moment he instantly knew that like him, she was no longer thinking about the position of Hand. They were both thinking of _that_ night, _that_ bed. Thinking of Robert and Delena.

Delena had married a knight in her father’s household and had two sons with her husband by now. At least her life had not been completely ruined and destroyed by Robert’s rapacious lust. Alester and Renly Norcross, those were her son’s names, he recalled. Stannis had wondered why she had named her younger son after Renly.

“She was the pretty one in the family. Uncle Alester had high hopes of a better match for her. But after that night, and your brother …” Selyse’s voice was neither angry nor accusatory, merely flat in tone. Stannis looked away. He did not want this conversation to go any further, for surely at some point it would move away from the subject of Robert and Delena, and touch on their own marriage. His wife was still staring at him, her expression unreadable.

“Did you enjoy the tea, Shireen?” He quickly turned to his daughter.

“I did, Father. Cousin Myrcella showed me her dolls. They’re very pretty. And the smaller ones even have a house made for them.”

“A house for dolls?” He could not hide his incredulity at the frivolity of this _. But these are merely toys for children_ , he admonished himself. Thankfully, Shireen did not seem to notice his tone, as she started describing the dollhouse.

“Would you like a doll like Myrcella’s?” Robert had them custom-made especially for Myrcella by a dollmaker in town, Stannis knew.

Shireen considered the question for a while, before shaking her head. “No. They’re too beautiful. I will be afraid to play with them, in case I ruin them, or they get dirty.”

“They’re just toys, Shireen,” Selyse spoke. “You can play with them however you want.”

Shireen shrugged. “The dollhouse would be fun to play with,” she said wistfully.

“Then you will have that,” Selyse said, kissing her daughter’s cheek.

“Can I, Father?” Shireen asked.

“Of course you can. But what will you do with an empty dollhouse, if you don’t want the dolls?”

“But I told you, it’s not empty, it has furniture and things in it,” Shireen replied.

“But not people?” Stannis asked. He wondered what it meant, that his daughter wanted a dollhouse without the dolls. _A sad, lonely girl_ , he had heard her described by others.

“The dolls are not people,” Shireen giggled. “It’s just play-acting, putting them to bed or sitting them down for dinner. We don’t really need the dolls for play-acting. We can just imagine them. Or make our own.”

He wondered who “we” referred to. Shireen and Arya, he supposed.

______________

He was leaving for the Small Council meeting the next morning when Devan ran into his study breathlessly. He had told Devan to spend the night at the inn with his father, and had not expected him back until after Davos’ ship had sailed for Dragonstone. One of the mothers had made a fuss about leaving, apparently, and there was danger that she was influencing the other mothers too.

Stannis hurried to the inn with Devan, and managed to convince the women to get on the ship with their children. “Threatened” was a more accurate word, if he was being completely honest with himself. That had taken so long, however, he ended up missing the Small Council meeting. He had never missed one before, but he thought this was an important enough task to do so.

He arrived back at his solar to find his daughter waiting for him, looking anxious.

“I thought you were going to Tower of the Hand to visit Arya.”

“I _was_ there, Father, but Lord Stark came back and told Arya and her sister to pack their things because they’re leaving. For Winterfell. They were arguing and I thought it best to leave, so I asked Bryen to take me home.”

Stannis was shocked. “Leaving? Did something happen at Winterfell? Is that why they have to leave?”

“I don’t know. But Bryen said …” Shireen hesitated.

“You can tell me. Don’t worry, I won’t be angry with Bryen.”

“Bryen said one of the servant boys told him that Lord Stark quarreled with Uncle Robert during the Small Council meeting, and Lord Stark is not the Hand anymore. Father, were you there at the meeting? Why did they quarrel? Is that why they have to leave? Because Uncle Robert sent them away?”

Her barrage of questioning was spinning his head. “One question at a time, Shireen. No, I was not at the meeting. I don’t know why they quarreled.” He touched her tiny shoulders. “I will find out.”

She nodded. He released his grasp on her shoulders and hurried out. He was at the door when he heard her voice, uncertain instead of anxious this time. “Bryen said … Bryen said if Lord Stark is not here, maybe Uncle Robert will make you Hand of the King. Do you want to be Hand of the King, Father?”

He silently cursed his squire. “I certainly don’t want to be Hand of the King only because your uncle quarreled with Lord Stark,” he turned around to face her, and replied.

Why had his daughter asked that question? He wondered, on the way to Tower of the Hand. He set the thought aside, there was a more pressing matter to be dealt with. Ned could not leave now. Ned and Robert must not quarrel now. Not when they were so close to exposing the truth. He went straight to Ned’s study, and found him there, writing a letter.

“What happened?” Stannis asked immediately.

“Why were you not at the Small Council meeting?” Ned replied with his own question.

Stannis was impatient with Ned changing the subject. “Tell me what happened first,” he insisted.

“Daenerys Targaryen is with child,” Ned replied.

Not surprising, Stannis thought. She had married the Dothraki horselord many moons ago. He still remembered Robert yelling and wailing about it. “If only you had not let them escape from Dragonstone!”

“And?” Stannis prodded Ned to continue.

“Robert wants to kill her, and her unborn child.”

“Her brother Viserys is the Targaryen heir,” Stannis pointed out. “Not her, or her child.”

“The concern is, while the Dothraki horselord might not be interested in crossing an ocean and fighting a war to put his brother-in-law on the Iron Throne, he could be convinced to do so for his own son. His own blood.”

Stannis had not thought of that angle. He had been worried about Viserys Targaryen making a play for the throne, but he had envisioned his support coming from within the Seven Kingdoms, from Dorne especially.

“Robert would not heed my counsel. Or Ser Barristan’s. I will not be a party to this, Stannis. I will not watch while another innocent mother, another innocent child is butchered and slaughtered. I will not! I have resigned as Hand, and Robert has accepted. I will go back to Winterfell.”

“If she is planning a war for the throne, she is hardly an innocent.”

“We don’t know that!” Ned shouted. “We don’t know that she is planning anything at all, it is all mere speculation at this point. What she _might_ do. What her husband _might_ do. Should we consign two lives to death based on unfounded speculation?”

 _Perhaps not so unfounded_ , Stannis thought, _it makes sense._ But now was not the time to argue about that. “You can’t leave King’s Landing, or resign as Hand. What about Cersei and Jaime? What about justice for Jon Arryn? Justice for your son Bran?”

Ned sighed. “Robert already accepted my resignation, there is nothing to be done. And I refuse to stay as his Hand, unless he rescinds the order to kill Daenerys Targaryen.”

“You can’t leave without the truth first coming out. We still need to firm out the evidence. I need you here for that.”

“I have the final piece of the puzzle, the conclusive proof.” Ned stood up and handed Stannis a book. _The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms, With Descriptions of Many High Lords and Noble Ladies and Their Children,_ Stannis read the title.

“Is this-“

“Yes, this is the book Jon borrowed from Pycelle.”

“How did you get hold of it? How do you know it’s even the right book? Pycelle could be lying to you.”

“I did not get hold of it, it was Arya. She must have overheard us talking, picked up on our conversation. She said Pycelle did not suspect anything, she asked for a book to show that siblings don’t have to look alike. To show that just because she doesn’t look as pretty as Sansa, or look like her brothers, it doesn’t mean that she’s a bastard.” Ned paused, his expression sad and his voice at a breaking point saying the word “bastard.”

Ned continued. “Pycelle took pity on her, Arya said, and showed her the book, to prove that some siblings look nothing like each other. And Pycelle was the one who mentioned that Jon Arryn borrowed the book just before his death, Arya never mentioned his name at all.”

 _Bless that girl_ , Stannis thought. But he cursed her too, for nosing around in matters that did not concern her, probably putting herself in danger in the process.

“How does this prove that Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen are not Robert’s children?”

Ned took the book from Stannis, set it on the table and opened it to a marked page. “I have gone through all the pages of the book. All the recorded Baratheon unions with the members of any House, have resulted in black-haired children. But this is the most important proof of all, the record of the last mating between a Lannister and a Baratheon, ninety years ago. When Tya Lannister wed Gowen Baratheon, the third son of the reigning Baratheon lord. They had a black-haired son who died in infancy.”

Ned flipped the pages to another marked page. “Thirty years before that, a male Lannister took a Baratheon maid to wife. They had three daughters and one son, all black-haired. These two records are the conclusive proof. The Lannisters cannot argue that it is a matter of the Lannister blood being stronger than others, when other Baratheon-Lannister unions in the past have also resulted in black-haired children.”

“Have you shown this to Robert?”

“No,” Ned replied.

“We should see him now. This is the proof and confirmation we have been waiting for.” Yet he saw that Ned was hesitating. “What is it? Ned?”

“You know what he wants to do to the Targaryen girl and her unborn child. What will he do to those children? Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen? He will kill them too.”

“No, he won’t,” Stannis replied. “Cersei and Jaime, yes. They must be tried for treason, adultery and incest of course. But not the children. He loves them.”

Images of Robert and the children passed through Stannis’ mind. Robert personally ordering the dolls for Myrcella, even dictating the color and the style of the dresses. “It must be pretty, but not too fancy. My daughter doesn’t like that.” Robert playing with Tommen and his beloved cats. Robert, despite his many, many shortcomings and flaws, being a better father to those children than Stannis ever was to his daughter.

“Robert will not kill them,” Stannis insisted, as much to convince himself as to convince Ned.

“You were not there when Tywin Lannister presented the bodies of Princess Elia’s children to Robert. Tywin had them wrapped in Lannister red, to hide the bloodstains, but you could still see the blood dripping to the floor. And Robert did not flinch, not once. Those dead children, and he did not even flinch.”

“They were Targaryens, not the children he has always believed are his own.”

“He does not seem to have much affection for Joffrey. He told me he doesn’t understand how he could have made a child like that. He told me if it wasn’t for the thought of Joffrey sitting on the throne, he would have given up the throne a long time ago and sail to the Free Cities. He would have no compulsion about killing Joffrey once he knows Joffrey is not his son and heir.”

“But not Myrcella and Tommen. You’ve seen him with them.”

“So you’re fine with one child being killed, as long as it’s not three?” Ned’s tone was challenging. And tinged with disappointment.

“And you’re fine with someone who should not be on the throne being on the throne? And Jon Arryn’s murderers not being brought to justice? And the people who tried to kill your son?” Stannis answered with his own challenge.

Ned looked away, his voice so soft Stannis had to strain to hear him. “No. I just want to give them some time.”

“Time for what?”

Ned was still refusing to meet his gaze. “I don’t want the blood of any more children on my hand.”

Understanding came to Stannis. “You can’t tell them. You can’t warn them before Robert knows the truth.”

“At least the children should have a chance to get away, before we tell Robert.”

“And if Robert is truly determined to have their blood, as you say, you think he will not find them?”

“Not if they have the chance to run far, far away. To the Free Cities, perhaps.”

“Cersei and Jaime will take the children to Casterly Rock, and Tywin Lannister will declare war. If you think the Lannisters will run, then you are deluded.”

“And if you think that Robert will spare those children, then you are the one who is deluded. Or do their lives not matter to you at all? Your own niece and nephews.”

“They are not my niece and nephews, that’s the point. They are not Robert’s children.’

“Is blood the only thing that matters to you? All those years of believing that they _are_ your niece and nephews, they mean nothing?”

“We are not discussing family relationship. This is about the law, and who is the rightful heir, and about the fate of the realm.”

The back and forth arguing was getting them nowhere. It was time for action. “We should go to Robert now, we have the conclusive proof.” Stannis hold out his hand to reach for the book, but Ned grabbed the book away before he could.

“Not yet. There wouldn’t have been enough time,” Ned said.

“Enough time for what?”

Ned was silent.

“Enough time for what, Ned? What did you do?”

The silence was maddening.

“What have you done? Enough time for what?”

“Enough time for them to get away,” Ned replied, looking at Stannis unflinchingly.

Stannis could not believe it. “You told them! Jaime and Cersei.”

“Only Cersei. She did not deny it.”

Incredulity turned to anger. “And you take that as proof that she will just quietly slip away with the children?” Anger turned to despair. “Ned, how naive are you?”

Ned answered defensively. “What else could she do? She won’t risk the lives of those children. She loves them. Whatever else she is, she is still a mother who loves her children.”

“We must stop her and the children from leaving. If we have them here, at least we are in a stronger position over Tywin Lannister.”

Ned countered. “Or he will definitely attack King’s Landing to rescue his daughter, son and grandchildren. If they run, away from Westeros, perhaps-“

Stannis interrupted. “Tywin Lannister will never run. Even if Cersei considers running away for the sake of her children, her father will find her and drag her back here and claim the throne in Joffrey’s name. Don’t you understand anything about Tywin Lannister? His pride in his House and the Lannister name?”

It was Ned’s turn to be stunned. “So you have always expected that there will be a war.”

“Of course there will be! I have made plans and arrangements to deal with the eventuality. If we have Jaime, Cersei and the children in our hands, it might stay Tywin’s hand, perhaps something can be negotiated to avoid a prolonged war. But if they escape, we have no leverage over him.”

“You did not tell me any of this.”

 _Because I needed to protect your position as the only person Robert will listen to,_ Stannis thought. But even that had backfired completely. Regrets and second thoughts were pointless now.

“Would you have done things differently, if I had?” Stannis asked.

Ned considered the question, before replying. “No. Not after seeing Robert’s bloodlust for Daenerys Targaryen this morning. He will kill them all, Stannis. Regardless of your counsel about leverage and keeping them alive as a threat to Tywin Lannister.”

“When did you speak to Cersei?”

“This morning. I sent a message to see her in the godswood, right after the council meeting.”

“It’s not to late then, we can still stop them from leaving. We must see Robert now. Unless-” A horrifying thought occurred to Stannis. “Unless running away, either back to Casterly Rock or to the Free Cities is never her plan.”

“What do you mean?”

“We must hurry! We must find Robert.”


	12. Distance

In the brief moment it took for him to cross the distance between the window and the door, he felt as if he had lived and died a thousand times over. Reflecting on it later, it mystified him that the images flashing through his mind as he was making that walk were not of the war, death and destruction that were surely to follow if Robert was to die before the truth could be revealed, but of Robert as a child.

Robert holding his hand that first time they saw the Iron Throne. Robert holding baby Renly in his arms, just a few hours after he was born. Robert safe and sound in their mother’s embrace. Robert colliding with him at the door, his hands on both of Stannis’ shoulders, steadying him, stopping him from falling.

“What’s the rush, brother?” Robert’s booming voice, sounding cross and slightly slurred. He had been drinking, Stannis could smell it on his breath.

_But surely memories could not be this vivid and this clear?_

This was no memory, he finally realized, as he heard Ned’s voice quietly saying, “Your Grace,” from behind him. Robert was really here, standing in front of him, standing too close to him, in fact. Alive. Unharmed. He had to restrain himself from touching Robert’s face, to confirm for himself that this _was_ his brother, in the flesh. Robert would think him mad if he had done that.

But he saw now that Robert was no longer looking at him, his eyes and attention reserved only for Ned. The hands that were on Stannis’ shoulders were swiftly removed as Robert walked towards Ned; so swiftly removed that Stannis had to put one hand on the door to steady himself.

_This is Ned’s study. Of course he’s here for Ned._

_We have to tell him now.  
_

He closed the door and turned around, to see Robert and Ned staring awkwardly at each other, a few feet away from one another. No, not just awkwardly, almost … suspiciously.

It was Robert who closed the distance between himself and Ned, moving closer, holding out the Hand of the King pin to him.

“Come on, Ned, let’s end this nonsense. I need you here. As my Hand. As my friend. As my brother.”

 _Yield, Ned. For now, at least._ _For Jon Arryn’s sake. For your son’s sake. For the kingdom’s sake,_ Stannis pleaded silently.

But would he have yielded, in Ned Stark’s position? Perhaps it was unfair to expect Ned to do something he was not willing to do himself, Stannis thought. And yet-

“Not until you take back the order to assassinate Daenerys Targaryen and her unborn child.” Ned’s voice was firm, and showed no sign of yielding.

Robert began yelling. “Damn it, Ned! We’ve gone through this. I can’t do that. You know why I can’t. The Dothraki has a large army. You heard what Pycelle said. If we can save thousands of lives by killing one-“

“Two. Two lives. Two innocent lives,” Ned interrupted, while his hand behind him was surreptitiously putting another book on top of _that_ book. The book containing the proof of Joffrey’s, Myrcella’s and Tommen’s origin. Stannis understood what Ned was trying to do, suddenly. This was a diversion, Ned was prolonging the argument to give Cersei, Jaime and the children time to escape.

And if Robert was safe and unharmed, it must be because they were planning to run away. Or had started running away.

 _Or they are still here, waiting for the right time to strike,_ Stannis reconsidered. Either way, it was time to stop this mummer’s farce.

“You must confine the queen, Jaime Lannister and the children in their quarters. Now. Command it now, Robert.”

Robert turned to look at Stannis with an incredulous expression. “What on earth are you babbling about? Confine _my_ wife, the queen, to her quarters? Are you mad? And children? What children?”

Before Stannis could open his mouth to reply, Robert asked another question. “Why are you even here? To gloat that Ned is no longer Hand of the King?”

Ned was shaking his head furiously. _No_ , he silently mouthed, _not yet_. Stannis ignored the plea.

_I’m sorry Ned, but I have a duty to the kingdom. To the law. To the king. And to my brother._

He grabbed the book from Ned’s resisting hand and showed it to Robert. Robert did not understand at first. Proof, proof of treason, incest and adultery, he told Robert. He told Robert everything, laying it down for him step-by-step from the beginning. His initial suspicion, sharing it with Jon Arryn, the two of them investigating, Jon Arryn’s death, the type of poison used as relayed by Maester Cressen. The plot to kill Robert at the melee, Cersei sending Lancel Lannister to the brothels to investigate Robert’s bastards, possibly with the intention of killing them. Because they were proof too, with their black hair.

“The seed is strong.” Robert repeated the phrase several times. “Jon’s last words. I didn’t know what he meant. I thought he was talking about his son, that boy he named after me. But he was talking about me. My seed. The Baratheon seed.” He turned to Stannis, his expression angry. “Why didn’t you and Jon come to me with this? He didn’t have to die.”

“We didn’t have the proof at that point, only suspicion. We waited too long. You can berate me, or punish me, later. Right now, they must be arrested.”

Robert’s anger shifted to another direction. “That damn woman, and that brother of hers. I should have guessed. Making a fool of me all these years, laughing behind my back and spitting on my face.”

Robert summoned the Kingsguard waiting outside, it was Ser Barristan Selmy himself. Ordered him to seize Jaime Lannister and the queen, and to confine them to their quarters with armed guards.

Ser Barristan looked surprised, but said nothing at first, before finally asking. “On what charge, Your Grace?”

“Making a fool of me,” Robert yelled. Ser Barristan looked at Stannis.

“Treason, incest and adultery,” Stannis replied.

“I need a drink, Ned.” Robert sat down heavily. Ned poured him a drink. Robert emptied the goblet in one gulp, and stared out the window. Ned and Stannis remained standing, avoiding each other’s gaze. They remained like that, in uncomfortable silence, the three of them, for what seemed like hours.

The silence was finally broken when Robert’s fist suddenly came down on the table, hard. Once, twice, three times. Ned and Stannis said nothing, merely watching. By the time he stopped, his knuckles were bleeding. He sat up suddenly, announcing, “I’m going to find that bastard Jaime Lannister and crush him with my warhammer the way I crushed Rhaegar Targaryen.”

Ned tried to stop him, but Robert was moving too fast. Faster than you would expect from a man his size and with his girth.

Stannis was closer to the door, and reached it first. He stood in front of it, blocking Robert’s way.

“Move away!”

“No. You have to get through me first.”

“Don’t think I won’t hit you just because you’re my brother.”

“And don’t think I won’t fight back. Sit down, Robert. Remember who you are, you are King now. You cannot simply kill him. There has to be a trial.”

“A trial, so they can parade my shame all over the realm? So they can gloat about fooling me all these years, screwing each other in my bed, in my bedroom, in my castle?”

“So what do you intend to do instead?” Ned asked darkly.

“That woman and her brother must die now.”

“And the children?” Ned was looking at Stannis as he was asking the question, not at Robert. “What do you propose to do with Prince Joffrey, Princess Myrcella and Prince Tommen, Your Grace?”

“They are not princess or princes! They’re no children of mine.”

 _See?_ Ned’s gaze seemed to be saying. _He will kill those children._ Stannis looked away from the accusing stare.

“Move away, Stannis.” Stannis stood firm at the door. It was opened from the outside before Robert could actually hit him. By a guard with a message from Ser Barristan. No sign of the queen and Jaime Lannister, or the children, anywhere in the Red Keep.

 _They ran after all_. Stannis was actually surprised. Even though he had been in a hurry, worried that they might run before they could be stopped, part of him did not really believe that they would. Had always believed that Cersei would have something else planned. 

There must be something else going on, something he had yet to understand. Every precaution must be taken. They could not let their guard down.

Robert was livid, berating the guard. “Find them! If you have to search the whole city, find them!”

“Search all the inns and ale houses close to the harbor, they could be waiting for a ship. And send men to search along the Kingsroad, and the off-roads and path through the woods as well,” Stannis added.

“They will not take the Kingsroad surely,” Robert objected. “It’s too obvious, they know we will search there.”

“Yes, so obvious that we might not bother to look for them there.”

“Fine, fine,” Robert said, dismissing the guard. Robert sat down again, gulping down his wine. Ned had not said a word since he asked Robert what he planned to do with the children.

“Why did they run? And why now?” Robert suddenly asked. “How did they know you plan on telling me the truth today? And how long have you known? Why did you wait until now to tell me?” He was directing all the questions to Stannis.

It was Ned who answered. “We were waiting for the final proof. For this book. It only came into my possession last night.”

“Who else knew? Besides you, Stannis, and Jon?

This was dangerous territory. Stannis could see where Robert’s thought was heading. Jon Arryn was dead, which left only two people with the knowledge.

“Cersei has had her suspicions for some time now. She could have heard something about your bastards and their mothers suddenly being gone from King’s Landing.” Stannis had told Robert about shipping them off to Dragonstone to keep them safe. Robert had merely nodded.

“I saw Cersei and the children just this morning, before the Small Council meeting. For them to be gone just as you are about to tell me the truth …” Robert seemed unconvinced, looking at Stannis, then Ned, then back at Stannis again. “Are you sure you did not let this slip to anyone else? Selyse, perhaps?”

Stannis was incredulous. “Even if I had, which I most certainly did not, why would my wife warn Cersei? They have never had the best of relations.”

“Yes, yes, I know, they both hate each other, in fact. But she hates me too, your wife. Perhaps this is revenge, for what I did on your wedding night.”

It had never occurred to Stannis that Robert would suspect Selyse. It was so far beyond the realm of possibility, he did not know how to counter Robert now. “It was not Selyse. I have told her nothing. She knows nothing about this.’”

But Robert would not let it go. “Curious, isn’t it? You and Ned have been investigating and keeping this a secret for, what, months now? And yet your wife arrives from Dragonstone, and suddenly Cersei is wise to the matter.”

“It was me, Robert,” Ned said. “It was me. I was the one who told Cersei. I was the one who told her to take the children and run. As far away from here as possible, before we tell you the truth. It was me. I did it.”

Stannis had seen that expression on Robert’s face before. He knew it by heart in fact, had it etched in his memory from that day long ago. The day of the storm. The day they became orphans. Disbelief. Disbelief for the longest of time, followed by anger and fury. Grief and sadness did not come until later. Until much, much later.

But Robert’s anger was more subdued this time, only the pulsing vein at his neck betraying it. “Why? Why did you do that?” He asked Ned, his tone calm, as if he was merely curious. Stannis had never been afraid of his brother’s wrath before, but this calm before the storm made him really nervous. More than nervous, in fact.

“Because I do not want the blood of innocent children on my hands,” Ned replied, his tone as deceptively calm as Robert’s had been. But Stannis could detect the emotions boiling underneath.

“On your hands? On mine, you mean? I will kill them, Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen. Is that what you fear I will do?”

“It is what I know you _will_ do.”

“You think that badly of me, Ned? That I would kill the children I have raised as my own for all these years? That I am such a monster that I would-“

Ned interrupted, before Robert could finish. “ _As long as any Targaryen is alive, there will be people trying to stage a rebellion to reclaim the throne in their name._ That’s what you said when Lord Tywin presented the bodies to you. Elia of Dorne. Prince Aegon. Princess Rhaenys. That’s what you said this morning too, when you ordered the assassination of Daenerys Targaryen and the child she is carrying.”

“They are Targaryens!” Robert’s anger finally exploded. “Of the same blood as Rhaegar, who raped and murdered your sister. Of the same blood as Mad Aerys, who slaughtered your father and brother. Or have you forgotten that?”

“No, Robert, I have not forgotten. But Rhaegar and Aerys are long dead. How many more people have to pay for their sins? How much more blood have to be spilled before your thirst for vengeance is satisfied? They were my family, not yours, Lyanna, Brandon and my father. I was satisfied with Aerys being dead, but you, you wanted more. The blood of innocent Targaryens.”

That was the worst thing Ned could have said, Stannis knew immediately. _Oh, Ned! You_ are _his family. Your family was his family too._

Robert laughed, a long and bitter laugh. “Here I am, thinking that we are like brothers. No, that we _are_ brothers.”

“You _are_ like a brother to me. That’s why I did it, to prevent you from making a huge mistake,” Ned replied.

“What about _your_ huge mistake? Do you even realize what you have done? There will be a war now, thousands will die, and those blood will be on your hands, Ned.”

“Maybe, maybe not. But if I had not done that, I will have the blood of three innocent children on my hand.”

Stannis countered Robert. “There will be a war nonetheless, even if we still have them here. Tywin Lannister will still declare war.” Robert ignored him.

“Tell me you regret it, Ned. Just tell me that, and I will forgive you this betrayal. Tell me you would have done it differently, if you have another chance. That you would have trusted me this time.” Robert’s voice was almost pleading.

“Would you have really spared the children?” Ned asked.

“That you even have to ask that question says it all. You have never trusted me. So how can I trust you now? You betrayed me, for the Lannisters.”

Before Stannis realized what was happening, Robert had summoned the guards to throw Ned in the dungeon. Treason was the charge. Ned said nothing. Stannis was the one arguing, futilely trying to get Robert to see sense.

“Get him out of my sight now!” The guards took Ned away. Ned was still not saying anything. And refusing to meet Stannis’ eyes.

“You cannot do this. We need the north on our side. If you throw Ned Stark in the dungeon, they will not fight for you. Not to mention the Tullys. Their lands sit between Casterly Rock and King’s Landing. If you charge Catelyn Tully’s husband with treason, the Tullys will not fight for you.”

“We don’t need them. We have the Tyrells and the might of Highgarden to resist Tywin Lannister and his army.”

Probably for the price of Margaery Tyrell as the new queen. Stannis understood Mace Tyrell’s plan now, and that odd business with Renly showing Ned Stark Margaery’s picture and asking about her resemblance to Lyanna Stark.

Margaery Tyrell was not meant for Renly, but for Robert.

It vexed him that he had not seen this coming. He had carefully laid plans of his own, but had not been wary enough of other people making plans of their own.

“And if Hoster Tully offers the Lannister army safe passage through his lands?”

Robert laughed, a bitter mocking laugh. “They will not do that. The Tullys are already fighting the Lannisters.” Robert saw the look of utter surprise on Stannis’ face.

“What’s the matter? Your new best friend never told you? Ned’s wife seized Tyrion Lannister, supposedly to bring him back to Winterfell to answer for some made-up crime, but they have vanished, who knows where. Did she think Lord Tywin would sit still for that? Ned must have known all about it. Probably the one who planned the whole thing. Who knows what else he’s been hiding. From me. From you.”

“It was not some made-up crime. Someone tried to murder Bran Stark, twice. First the fall, and then an assassin was sent, with a dagger.”

“And Ned suspects the Lannisters?”

“Perhaps the boy saw something. Something involving Cersei and Jaime.”

“Then why didn’t Ned come to me with this? Instead of making his own decisions, doing things behind my back, keeping secrets from me. From his king, who he is supposed to be serving.”

The cold fury in Robert’s voice stunned Stannis.

“I hid things from you too. We both did, Ned and I. We had good reasons for it, I explained it to you before.”

“You did not warn off Cersei and let them escape.”

“I sent a fleet of ships from Dragonstone, to close off Lannisport, in case war does break out. Without your knowledge. Without your command. The king’s command.”

“You are my Master of Ships. Preparing and planning for naval battles are part of your duties. I don’t need to know all the details.”

It was strange, Robert excusing all the things Stannis had done, while being so hard on Ned.

“Why are you doing this, Robert? Ned -“

“I never expected anything more from you. I know you always expect the worst from me, think the worst of me. Hell, that’s the reason I keep you here all these years, in the Council, by my side. Even if we’re always at each other’s throat. Even if I feel like tearing off my face every time you open your mouth. I need someone who is not afraid to tell me when I am wrong, who can see all my flaws. Jon Arryn tried his best, but he had one disadvantage.”

“And what is that?”

“He loved me. And that blinded him to some of my faults. You never had that disadvantage.”

_The disadvantage of loving my own brother? No, perhaps not._

“That is what Ned Stark was trying to do, telling you that you are wrong.”

“He did more than just telling, he made his own decision. A decision that was not his to make. Based on this … this monstrous view he had of me. How could he think that of me, Stannis?”

Stannis understood it finally. Robert might not have expected anything more from him, but he _had_ expected more from Ned.

“I’m making you Hand of the King.”

“You can’t keep Ned locked up.”

“Yes, I can. I’m the king. Ned forgot that, but don’t you ever forget that, Stannis. This is not a request, it’s a command,” Robert said, as he pinned the Hand of the King pin on Stannis’ chest.

“Cheer up, brother. Isn’t this what you have always wanted?

Not the position itself, but Robert’s trust, Robert listening to his counsel, yes, he had always wanted that.

 _It is true after all_ , Stannis thought. _The gods curse us by granting us what we most desire._

Never mind that he had long stopped believing in any god.

“Why didn’t you just say you regretted it?” He asked Ned later, when he visited him in the dungeon.

“Lie, you mean? Is that what you would have done?”

Stannis did not answer, but Ned knew the answer from his expression anyway. “You want me to do the things you would not do yourself, in my position.”

“I don’t know what I would have done, in your position.”

_I would never have been in your position in the first place.  
_

“It doesn’t matter. Robert would have known if I had lied”

“Maybe he wanted you to lie, wanted to believe in that lie.”

“I did what I did. I don’t regret it. It was the right thing to do.” Ned wore his certainty like an armor. Stannis knew he had to penetrate that armor if there was to be any chance of reconciliation between Ned and Robert.

“He made me the new Hand. I have accepted. With the war coming-“

“He should have made you his Hand in the first place, and leave me in peace at Winterfell.” Ned suddenly looked frantic. “My daughters-“

“They are still at Tower of the Hand.”

“Can you send them back to Winterfell?”

“It’s out of my hands. Robert wants them confined.”

“In a dungeon?”

“No, not a dungeon. In a room in Maegor’s Holdfast. But I managed to convince him to let them stay at the Tower. Under my care. And my wife’s. We’re moving there.”

“I will not ask you to do anything to betray your brother. But if there is any way to return them to Winterfell-“

“I can’t, Ned. Not because I fear Robert, but because returning the girls home would be unwise at this point.”

Ned was struck by a sudden realization. “They’re hostages, in case my son decides to call the banners, once the news reached them that Robert has me imprisoned in his dungeon. The way you wanted Cersei, Jaime and their children here as leverage against Tywin Lannister.”

Stannis did not deny it. Ned lashed out in anger. “How could you? Your daughter played with my daughters. Arya looked up to you, she considers you a … a friend. As do I.”

“I have to do what’s right for the kingdom,” Stannis snapped. “This is only a temporary madness, Robert keeping you a prisoner. His anger will cool soon, and I will work to convince him to release you. I promise you that. But if your son calls the banners and declares war, Robert will never forgive that. There will be no turning back.”

“And you think having three hostages instead of just one will prevent my son from calling the banners?”

“It will make him, and your wife, consider things more wisely. And you need to write them a letter.”

“What letter?”

Stannis had a question of his own he needed to ask Ned Stark. “Why didn’t you tell me about your wife arresting Tyrion Lannister? And the Lannisters rampaging through Riverrun? I thought we agreed not to do anything about the information Petyr Baelish gave. I thought we agreed that he is not a reliable source.”

“You didn’t tell me about sending ships to Casterly Rock. Or that you were planning for war.”

“Why? Would you not want to find out the truth if you knew there will be a war?”

Ned did not answer his question.

“Write the letter, Ned, for your daughters’ sake. For your family’s sake. Tell your wife and your son this is only a misunderstanding. Robert’s wrath will pass, he will not harm you, and he will let you go soon. Tell them not to do anything foolish. Tell them the real enemy right now is the Lannister.”

Ned was looking stubborn. “Damn it, Ned! I’m trying to help you.”

“I will write the letter. But only if you promise me one thing, Stannis.”

“What?”

“Promise me that you will keep my daughters safe. And if anything happens to me -

“Nothing will happen to you. I told you-“

“-if anything does happen to me, promise me you will bring them back home, to their mother. Will you promise me that?”

It was a promise he knew he would regret, even before he said the words. Duty, justice, the law, blood, kinship, the obligation imposed by a promise, the obligation imposed by a … friendship, they would all collide soon, he knew. And he was not so certain the right answer was so clear-cut this time.

 _Family, duty, honor, which comes first?_ He had asked Arya Stark that question, once upon a time, almost a lifetime ago. She had yet to give him her answer. He would know it soon enough.

“Stannis?”

“I promise, Ned.”


	13. Baratheon Brothers

“My little birds at Casterly Rock informed me they have not arrived there, Your Grace,” Lord Varys said, his hands fluttering as if he was a bird himself.

Stannis considered how much he despised that phrase - little birds. No, _my_ little birds, always the emphasis on _my_ , as if to emphasize the fact that these were Lord Varys’ own spies, and not the Throne’s. Not the King’s.

“They will not have arrived yet, even if that is the destination. The fact that they are not there now means nothing,” Stannis replied.

Varys smiled his usual obsequious smile. _Does the Spider ever tire of appearing so servile to other people?_ Stannis wondered. A clever mind like his must have resented it at times, having to bow and scrape to lesser minds.

“Certainly, you are right, Lord Stannis. Their absence at Casterly Rock means nothing, at this point. But Lord Tywin is certainly using it to his advantage.”

“How do you mean?” It was Renly who asked the question.

“He is spreading the words that the reason for their absence could be that the King has secretly executed them. Without a trial. All of them. His son, his daughter, and all three of his grandchildren,” Varys replied. “No doubt Lord Tywin means to spread anger and discontent among the other lords, to gain their support for staging a rebellion.”

“A rebellion towards what end? If he is claiming that the King has murdered Joffrey, Tommen and Myrcella, as well as Cersei and Jaime Lannister, in whose name is he claiming the Throne?” Stannis asked.

Varys looked unperturbed by the question. “Oh no doubt they will reappear, at some point, once he has convinced enough lords to join him in his rebellion. At this point-“

“At this point,” Stannis interrupted, “he is cloaking himself in the mantle of an unjustly victimized father and grandfather, seeking justice for his family.”

Even in his anger and utter disgust at the lie, Stannis could see the brilliance of the plan. Tywin Lannister was not a man to be trifled with, not a man that should be underestimated.

Varys smiled. “Precisely, Lord Stannis. After all, that was how Robert’s Rebellion started.”

“The difference is, Aerys really did murder those people. My brother did no such thing,” Stannis snapped.

Stannis had convinced Robert to release the pronouncement that very same day they escaped, detailing all the evidence of Cersei and Jaime’s crime, and the plan to put them on trial for treason, adultery and incest. Ravens were sent to all the lords of the Great Houses, and  copies of the pronouncement were posted all over King’s Landing.

“What about the crimes they are accused of? What does Lord Tywin say to that?” Renly asked.

“He is saying that it is all a lie, a plot conceived because the Iron Throne wishes to destroy House Lannister, to avoid paying the outstanding debt to House Lannister totaling millions of gold dragons,” Varys replied. 

Renly laughed. “Avoiding debt payment? Is that all the brilliant and mighty Tywin Lannister can come up with?”

Stannis highly doubted that. There must be something else. Varys’ expression told him as much. “Speak, Lord Varys. You are paid to procure and provide information. Now do your duty.”

“Well, I hesitate to say, Lord Stannis, only because it seems such a … such a _malicious_ gossip.”

Stannis was losing patience with all the fake servility and obsequiousness. “If Lord Tywin is using it as a way to gather support for a rebellion, it’s hardly gossip. It is important information for us to know, so that we may counter it.”

Varys made a show of hesitating once more, before finally speaking. “There is also a rumor being spread, that it is a plot by the King’s brother, to remove the King’s rightful heirs by means of a malicious lie. So that the brother can become King Robert’s heir, and inherit the throne in the event of his death.”

“Ridiculous. His Grace will wed again, and sire an heir. He is a young man still,” Ser Barristan Selmy suddenly spoke, breaking his own rule of not speaking during the council meetings unless he was asked his opinion. 

It was Lord Baelish who replied. “There _is_ another tale being spread, Your Grace, my lords. It is already proliferating all over King’s Landing. I’m surprised Lord Varys with all his little birds has not heard of it.”

“Well, out with it, then. Are you waiting to be admired for knowing more than Lord Varys?” Stannis asked through gritted teeth.

Petyr Baelish merely looked amused. “The rumor is, that some harm might befall the King before he can wed again. Before he can sire another heir. And that his brother has gained an inexplicable influence with the King, through some nefarious means. Convincing the King to set aside Lord Eddard Stark as Hand, and imprisoning him for a made-up charge.”

That finally got Robert’s attention. “It is not a made-up charge!” Robert yelled, his face flushed with fury and drink. He had been drinking heavily for days, fluctuating between anger and self-pity. About Cersei and Jaime. About Ned Stark. About the children. He had commanded Stannis and Renly to eat supper with him every night. “You’re the only family I have left,” he had said. Stannis had tried to get Robert to stop drinking, but that had only increased his rage.

Robert continued, “He warned them so they could escape. He was collaborating with the Lannisters. A traitor, that’s what he is.”

Varys raised his eyebrows, Ser Barristan cleared his throat. Robert turned to him. “Speak your mind, Barristan the Bold.”

“I cannot believe that of Lord Stark, Your Grace. I am sure he has his reasons for warning them. It is impossible to believe that he would be collaborating with the Lannisters to betray you. Not Lord Stark. He is one of the most honorable man I know.”

Robert was livid hearing those words. He stood up and started walking menacingly towards Ser Barristan. “What reason? What reason? What are you implying, old man?” Stannis stood up immediately to hold Robert off, but there was no need for that. Robert was unsteady on his feet, tripping and almost falling down. It was Renly who caught him and escorted him back to his seat.

Varys was picking up Petyr Baelish’s account. “Of course the stories and rumors being spread vary, about which of the King’s brothers is the mastermind behind the plot.”

“There is no plot!” Thundered Stannis.

“My lord, do not be cross with me, I am merely relaying the information I have procured. Is that not my duty as Master of Whisperers? Is that not what I am being paid to do, as you so sagely said before?”

Renly, back at his own seat, smiled with amusement. “Go on, Lord Varys, enlighten us.”

“Some said it is Lord Stannis, of course, King Robert’s heir, should he die without a trueborn son. Others claimed it is Lord Renly, the youngest Baratheon brother, acting in concert with House Tyrell. Some … also remarked on the very _close_ relationship between Lord Renly and Ser Loras Tyrell.”

Renly had not stopped smiling at Varys, but Stannis saw the set of his jaw, and recognized the fury boiling inside. And yet he also knew that he was the only one who had noticed it. Renly was always much, much better than him at hiding his true feelings, especially his anger.

Renly was laughing uproariously now. “Well, it’s a very silly and odd story. Why would House Tyrell align itself with me, the youngest brother, when my brother Stannis has the better claim? That is, if Robert does die without a trueborn son.”

Robert had been silent, almost nodding off, but he was alert now. “I’m not dead yet. And I will sire many, many sons. More than the Kingslayer.”

 _You already have_ , Stannis thought, _only they are not trueborn._

Renly chimed in immediately. “Then perhaps it is better to arrange your marriage now. To stop all this talk about your brothers plotting against your heir. If you are betrothed, and well on the way of siring another heir -“

“And do you have a candidate in mind, Lord Renly?” Baelish asked.

“If we have lost the richest House in the kingdom, we need to ensure the loyalty and support from the second richest House, of course.”

 _Of course_ , Stannis thought, _Mace Tyrell making his move through Renly._

“Cersei Lannister is still alive. Robert is still married to her by law and in the sight of the Seven, he cannot be betrothed to anyone else,” Stannis said. “Not until she has been put to trial and punished.”

“I’m sure the High Septon can arrange something. After all, you have assembled all the proof for the incest and adultery,” Renly replied blithely.

Petyr Baelish replied before Stannis had a chance to speak. “If Grand Maester Pycelle is still here, he would know the right course of action, and how to arrange it with the High Septon. He has a considerable influence with the Faith.” He looked meaningfully at Stannis. “Why has he been sent back to Oldtown?”

Stannis was the one who convinced Robert to send Pycelle back to Oldtown, and to request a new Grand Maester. He did not want Pycelle reporting back to Tywin Lannister. The excuse they had used was that Pycelle was old and ailing, and with the realm about to be thrown into a war, a younger and more vigorous Grand Maester was needed. 

Pycelle did look very old and frail, but Stannis had always suspected that the frailty was exaggerated, for his own purpose. But Pycelle could hardly shed the frailty now to look hale and hearty, it would be obvious that he had been faking all these years.

Robert had not objected. “Do what you think must be done,” he had said to most things Stannis had suggested. Except about releasing Ned Stark. He had refused to hear any of the pleas and arguments Stannis had made about that.

“He is very old and ailing, it is time for him to rest,” Stannis replied to Baelish.

“I have always thought, for some reason, that the Grand Maester is perhaps not as frail as he appears. Don’t you agree, Lord Stannis?” Varys asked.

Renly was miffed. “Can we go back to the betrothal? Why are we wasting time talking about Pycelle, when he is no longer here?”

Ser Barristan interrupted suddenly. “Perhaps it is better to focus on finding Ser Jaime and Lady Cersei. For now.”

Lady Cersei. Not the queen. Robert had forbidden anyone from calling Cersei with that title.

But something else was ticking Robert off now. “ _Ser_ Jaime! The sister-fucker, you mean? The Kingslayer. I should have known. You have him in your service for all those years, Barristan, how did you not know? How did you not know that a man under your command was breaking his oath?”

Barristan Selmy looked down and said nothing.

“He is still a knight, whatever else he is,” Stannis said. “It is hardly Ser Barristan’s fault. Jaime Lannister was the one guarding you most of the time inside the castle, he had free reign of the castle. You cannot expect Ser Barristan to peek through the queen’s bedroom every night.”

Robert was livid. “Is it my fault, then? Are you calling me a fool, for not knowing what’s been going on in my own bed?”

 _Why_ didn’t _you know? If you had spent more time in your own bed with your own wife rather than with other women, perhaps you would have known. If you had not humiliated your wife constantly with your unbridled lust, perhaps-_

 _But who are you to talk?_ Stannis imagined Robert retorting back. _The man who spends even less time in his wife’s bed, even if he is not spending it in anyone else’s bed.  
_

He shuddered thinking what their parents would have thought of them now. _Father was not the kind of husband we both are._

“I’m only telling you the truth,” he replied stiffly to Robert, who was glaring at him ferociously.

Varys appeared to be trying to smooth things over. Or was he? “I’m sure Lord Stannis meant nothing of the sort, Your Grace. He is still new at being Hand, not used to the … diplomacy and grace required for the position.”

Stannis looked at Varys thoughtfully. _Who is he serving, really? Whose interest?_ He had wanted to get rid of Petyr Baelish and Varys too, along with Pycelle, doubting their loyalty. But with the rumors being spread about the plot conceived by the King’s brothers to get rid of his heirs, removing three members of the Small Council at the same time would only serve to provide fuel for those rumors.

 _Four_ , Stannis corrected himself. Ned Stark was also removed from the council. He shuddered thinking of Ned in that dungeon. _Forgive me, Ned. I tried. I’m still trying._

He pushed the thought of Ned Stark aside for the moment. It might be wiser to keep Baelish and Varys close for the time being, he reasoned, to guard against whatever mischief they might have planned. _Once the war is over, once Tywin Lannister is defeated, we will clean house,_ he vowed. Baelish, Varys, all would be gone, and all their spies and little birds too.

But in the meantime, they would have to be very careful. He had warned Robert not to discuss the most important details of the war planning with the whole council. Everyone should only know what they need to know; Baelish how much gold dragons would be required, Varys what information and news would be needed.

Stannis brought the discussion back to Barristan Selmy’s point. “Ser Barristan is right, the priority is finding them. Lord Tywin’s army seems to be staying put at Casterly Rock for now. He is probably still trying to muster support from the other lords.”

“No one would join him, surely, except his own bannermen?” Renly asked.

“The Greyjoys might, if he promises that they will rule as king over the Iron Islands again. And they have a strong naval force still, even after their defeat,” Stannis replied. 

“Lord Stark has Balon Greyjoy’s son as a hostage,” Petyr Baelish pointed out. “Alas, with Lord Stark imprisoned, perhaps Lady Stark and her son might be inclined to give him back to the Greyjoys. Perhaps I could be sent as an envoy, to Lady Stark? We have a long relationship, from childhood. We are like family, almost.”

“You had hoped to be part of the family once, I heard, only Lord Hoster Tully would not hear of it,” Varys said, smiling.

Baelish’s own smile never faded, even if it never reached his eyes. “That is an old story, Lord Varys.”

 _At least those two don’t seem to be working in concert_ , Stannis thought. Beneath all the practiced courtesy, they seemed to despise each other too much to work together. Or maybe not. If it would benefit them, he was sure they could swallow the hatred.

If Robert would not yield about releasing Ned Stark, an envoy would have to be sent to Lady Stark and her son eventually. But definitely not Petyr Baelish, Stannis decided.

“That will not be necessary, Lord Baelish. For now,” Stannis replied. He looked at Robert pointedly.

“That’s enough for now, everybody has been braying long enough,” Robert groused.

Renly started walking out with everyone, but came back in when he saw Stannis staying put. Stannis caught Varys lingering at the door, watching the three Baratheon brothers. He stared at Varys challengingly, Varys nodded and smiled, as if he had found out something of great importance.

Stannis started talking about the ships sailing to Lannisport.

“If the Greyjoys do join the Lannisters, it is time to send the Royal Fleet, the fleet from Dragonstone will not be enough.”

Renly objected. “But if we send the Royal Fleet to Lannisport, Tywin Lannister will take that as a declaration of war. He will definitely have to fight then. Lord Tywin is a smart man, he will not fight a war he cannot win. He stayed on the sideline for ages during the rebellion, until Robert’s victory was assured.”

“That was different,” Stannis replied. “This time, it is the honor of his House at stake. If he doesn’t fight, people will say that the charge is true, about his children and incest. And his grandson will not be king. He has to fight. He will fight, whether we send the Royal Fleet to Lannisport or not.”

“Perhaps if we offer to leave him and Casterly Rock in peace? Only Jaime and Cersei will be punished?” Renly asked.

“He will never accept it.”

“But we should offer the terms anyway. If he refuses, and there is a war, he cannot say that we did not try to broker for peace.”

Stannis was impressed, Renly coming up with a good idea for once. His brother could be foolish and frivolous in many ways, but at odd times he did have his brilliant moments. He turned to look at Robert, who had not said a word the whole time. Robert’s eyes were glazed, looking at his brothers, but not really seeing them. Renly and Stannis exchanged worried glances.

“He will never accept it. He will fight to the bitter end to put Joffrey on the throne.” Robert had been listening to Stannis and Renly talking after all. “And he will be the real power behind the throne, like he was when he was Aerys’ Hand.”

Robert paused, before continuing. “Do you remember, Stannis? He was sitting on the throne, the first time we came to court. We thought he was the king, and we thought he looked so impressive and noble.”

Stannis remembered it perfectly. Still remembered his tiny hand being held by Robert’s hand. “Don’t let go of his hand,” their father had said. “Stay together.”

“As impressive as the dragons are fearsome,” Stannis said quietly.

Robert nodded. “They are still here, the dragon skulls. In the basement somewhere. Perhaps it’s time to have them destroyed.”

Renly interrupted the stroll down memory lane. “Tywin Lannister sitting on the throne? What was he doing? Why have I never heard of this story?”

“Aerys had cut himself on the throne again. He used to do that constantly, the story went. Lord Tywin was holding court for him,” Stannis replied.

“I’m sure I’ve told you that story before, when you were a boy,” Robert said.

Renly shook his head. “No. It’s not like the two of you are always regaling me with tales of your adventures together. Now Robert’s adventures with Ned Stark, on the other hand, I’ve heard of them often enough.”

Robert was looking at Renly with a strange expression. “We did have many adventures together, Ned and I. We were closer to each other than we were to our own brothers. I treated him better than my own brothers. And yet he did that to me. Betrayed me. Blood tells in the end. I should have put my trust in my real brothers, not an imaginary one.”

How many times had Stannis secretly wished for this confession from Robert? Yet it sounded hollow now, meaningless, wrung out from a broken and angry man.

_He doesn’t really mean it. It is only his anger and despair speaking._

“Ned Stark was not trying to aid the Lannisters-”

“I don’t care what his intention was, the end result is the same. He helped them escape, he betrayed me. It is treason.” Robert could not be moved or reasoned with.

“If you really mean what you said, about putting your trust in your own brothers, then listen to me now. Trust me now. Let him go. You need him on your side. You need the Starks and the Tullys on your side. You need the North and Riverrun on your side.”

“Since when are you Ned’s biggest defender? I thought you despised him, envied him all these years,” Robert said, his tone suspicious.

“This is not about Ned Stark. This is about the war, about the fate of the kingdom.”

Robert turned to Renly. “What do you think?”

“If House Tyrell is firmly on our side, we don’t need Riverrun, or the North. That is why you should announce the betrothal. Or at least promise it to Lord Tyrell.”

Stannis exploded. “What have the Tyrells done for you that you are so in bed with them?”

It was probably not the best expression to use, Stannis realized, as he watched Renly’s jaw tightening. Robert seemed oblivious.

“I’m hardly in bed with them, Stannis. But then you wouldn’t know, would you? Never being in bed with anyone, except on two occasions perhaps. Or was it only once? Can’t imagine you and your wife were much in the mood that first night.”

It was Robert’s turn to fume. “Enough! No more talk of beds. Or weddings. I will speak with Ned myself. And then I will decide what to do with him.”

Renly looked disappointed. Stannis was worried. “What do you want to speak with him about?” He asked.

“That’s between us,” Robert snapped, and walked out of the room. Stannis was thinking of his letter to Doran Martell, probably already delivered by Davos at this point. He had to offer something to gain their support. He was thinking of that offer now. It was a long while before he realized that Renly was still in the room with him, watching him.

“What?” He snapped. “And don’t start with Mace Tyrell’s daughter again.”

Renly snickered, but then his expression turned serious. “I don’t understand you. I don’t understand you at all. Why aren’t you happy? Isn’t this what you have always wanted? Being Robert’s Hand, Robert no longer going on and on about how great Ned Stark is.”

“Wants and happiness are hardly the point,” Stannis retorted.

“Not for you, perhaps, but they are for most people.”

He was looking at Renly now, really looking at him. The man that he was now, not the boy that he had been. The man who looked so much like Robert had looked at that age.

“What do _you_ want, Renly?” He asked this brother who was no longer a boy, who had not been a boy for a long time. “Why is it so important to you that Robert weds Mace Tyrell’s daughter? How will that bring _you_ happiness?”

“It’s hardly about my wants and my happiness,” Renly snorted. “I am only giving Robert wise counsel, as you think you are doing, misguided as you are, though. We need them, we need their support, and if you’re not blinded by your hatred because of the siege, you would see that too.”

“I don’t trust them. Perhaps not as much as I mistrust the Lannisters, but quite close.”

“Well, I do. And I know them better than you do.”

 _They have seduced you, you mean, the whole family, bringing you into their fold_. He did not say this to his brother.

“Robert will decide in the end,” he said instead.

Renly was no longer listening to him, his expression far away. _Thinking of Loras Tyrell?_ No, it turned out he was thinking of something entirely different.

“I’ve heard that story, actually. I was wrong before. I just remembered now.”

“What story?”

“The one about you and Robert going to court the first time, and mistaking Tywin Lannister for Aerys.”

“Did Robert tell you?”

Renly stared at him. “No. It wasn’t Robert. It was you. You were the one who told me. Robert held your hand the whole day. Father told him, “Don’t let go of your brother, Robert.” And he never did, he held your hand the whole day, that’s what you told me.”

Stannis did not remember telling Renly this.

“You don’t remember, do you?”

“No,” Stannis had to admit. But he must have done so, for how else would Renly have known about the hand-holding? “When did I-“

“It was during the siege. I couldn’t sleep. I was so hungry. Some of the men were saying we should just surrender, that Robert had forgotten about us, that we would all die, that no one would come. I told you that, and you were angry. You yelled at me.”

“I was-“

“You yelled at me. I was crying, and you said that Robert _will_ come, that Robert will never let his brothers come to harm. He will win the war and he will come for us. Because we’re his brothers. And you know this because he held your hand the whole day, that day, because Father told him not to let go.”

He remembered now, holding the crying boy on his lap, saying the words he desperately wanted to believe himself. _It is not a lie_ , he had reasoned at the time. How could it be a lie if he would have given anything in the world to believe it himself?

Renly was staring at him now. “Did you really believe it? That Robert would come? Was that why you held out for so long?”

 _I wanted to believe. I needed to believe,_ he wanted to say, but the words would not come.

“It wasn’t Robert who came in the end, was it? It was that smuggler, your onion knight.”

There was a bitterness in Renly’s voice he had never heard before, not directed towards Robert, at least. He had heard it often enough directed towards himself.

“Robert was injured, hiding from Aery’s men. He would have come if he could.” The words did come this time, but Renly did not seem convinced by them.

“I blamed you, hated you, cursed you, the whole time. For all the dead and the suffering. But maybe I was blaming the wrong brother all along.”

Renly’s face had somehow faded into a blurry mess. He looked away to clear his vision, took a deep breath, and said, “You shouldn’t have been blaming any brother at all. Mace Tyrell and Paxter Redwyne, they’re the ones to blame. Remember that the next time you try to convince Robert to marry Mace Tyrell’s daughter.”

Renly shook his head in disbelief, and rolled his eyes. “Stannis. Brother. Why do you always have to be so … you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last update for the year (obviously!). I’ve had so much fun writing this fic. Thank you so much for reading and all the comments and kudos : ) The next chapter will take a bit longer, what with the end of the holiday season and all. Happy New Year everyone!


	14. The Lies of Others

_The mind is capable of any manner of deception_ , Stannis thought _._ To convince ourselves of the rightness of our cause, to rationalize and reason away our decisions. He wondered if that was what Ned Stark was doing, at this very moment, locked up in that dark, desolate dungeon.

_But what of Robert’s own possible self-deception? He claims now he would never have touched the children, would have spared their lives the way he would not have spared Cersei and Jaime. Yet how much of that is the truth, and how much is merely righteous indignation at Ned’s accusation?_

Not merely righteous indignation, Stannis amended. Disappointment and sorrow, he was sure those were in the mix too.

“It matters what you say to him, what you say to other people about him, and what you think of him, because _you_ matter to him.” Stannis had overheard their mother telling Robert that, after the debacle with Proudwing. After Robert had tried defending himself for laughing and calling the bird Weakwing with, “Stannis doesn’t care what I say about him. Or what I think about him.”

_Robert might be willing to forgive you the betrayal, Ned. But not your lack of faith in him._

_Because you mattered to him. No, you still matter to him, even now. Especially now.  
_

Stannis could not imagine the conversation that would take place between Robert and Ned. Robert had not seen him yet, according to the guard. Stannis had tried to see Ned before Robert did, to warn him of Robert coming, but was told by the guard that the King had expressly forbidden anyone from visiting Lord Stark. “Including the Hand,” the guard had said, but his expression clearly stating, “ _Especially_ the Hand.”

“My lord?” Devan’s voice interrupted his train of thought. He turned from the window to face the boy.

“What is it, Devan?”

“Her ladyship wants to know if you are having dinner here tonight. Or with His Grace at the castle.”

Robert had not said anything about that.

Stannis had not sat down to dinner with his family since they moved to Tower of the Hand. Robert, and the possibility of war, had the primary claim of his time and his thoughts. But he wondered now how Selyse and Shireen were handling the move. And the girls. Ned Stark’s daughters. How they were coping with all the changes. With their father being imprisoned, all their household staff removed, and other people moving in.

Devan was waiting patiently for his answer.

“I will be eating here.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Devan.”

“My lord?”

It was unfair to ask the boy how things were, in his own household. _I should know. And if I don’t, he’s not the person I should be asking._ And yet the thought of asking his wife …

“Go on, tell her ladyship I will be having dinner with them.”

Devan nodded and left his study. Selyse walked in a few minutes later.

 _Why did she not ask me herself?_ He wondered. But then again, he always used the squires himself to pass messages to her, instead of talking to her directly.

_Perhaps we are more alike than we thought possible.  
_

“How was the council meeting? Has anything been decided?”

He did not understand the question. “About what?”

Selyse raised her eyebrows. “The girls, of course. Lord Stark’s daughters. When are they to be sent home to Winterfell?”

 _This is what comes of never discussing matters properly with your wife_ , Stannis realized. Selyse must have thought it was a temporary state of affair, Sansa and Arya Stark staying at Tower of the Hand with them, until their journey home could be arranged.

“They’re not going back to Winterfell. Not for now, at least.”

She did not seem surprised hearing his answer, however. “So it is true. Your brother wants to keep them here as hostages?”

“Hardly as hostages,” he snapped. “Ned Stark will be released soon. Even Robert cannot be this foolish and foolhardy for long.”

“What will happen then?”

“What do you mean?”

“Will your brother reappoint Lord Stark as Hand of the King? Will Robert set you aside for Lord Stark once more?

The thought had not even occurred to him, it was the last thing on his mind. He was crossed with Selyse for bringing up the subject, for even thinking about it.

“Why should that matter? When we could be at war at any moment. Is my position all that matters to you?” He asked irritably.

“It matters to me what my lord husband deserves, what should have been his. By rights, and by virtue of everything he has done for his brother.”

So this was about Storm’s End, as well as the position of Hand.

She held out her hands to him, imploring. “You should fight harder for what should be yours.”

He ignored the gesture and turned away from his wife. The silence stretched out far longer than he expected, he presumed she would have continued talking by now. Turning his head slightly, he spotted her through the corner of his eyes, her expression weary. After all, this was an argument they have had plenty of times in the past.

 _I_ did _fight. Ask Robert, he would tell you how much I annoyed him, irritated him, pestered him. About Storm’s End. About being Hand._

And yet how could she have known, if he had not shared any of that with her? A voice argued in his head. Had told her nothing, would not even admit to his own wife how much losing Storm’s End had mattered.

Perhaps it was the thought of his brother’s marriage, and all the troubles it was about to unleash on the kingdom. Or perhaps it was that look of intense weariness on Selyse’s face, the look that bordered on utter resignation and hopelessness. Whatever it was, he was finally moved to ask the question he had been wondering about for years.

“Was it a disappointment for you? Marrying someone you thought would have certain … things, would achieve certain position, and yet ending up stuck in some barren island?”

“Is that what you think? That those are the reasons I am disappointed?” She did not deny the disappointment. He was actually relieved to hear her admitting it.

“Your uncle Alester was certainly disappointed, he never tried to hide it. Other members of your family too.”

She stared at him for a long while, her expression stubborn and unyielding, almost scornful. He knew that his own expression mirrored hers. _We are strangers to each other_ , he had always believed, but the thought occurred to him for the first time since their marriage, that perhaps it was more accurate to say that they were both strangers to other people. In the awkwardness of her dealings with others, in the abruptness and the lack of tact his wife often displayed, in her suspicious and scornful nature, she reminded him of … himself.

When he had thought of their marriage at all, which was very rarely, he had summed it up simply as an unbridgeable divide between two very different people. They were too different from each other, in everything that mattered. But he wondered now if the problem was not only that they were too different in their outward priorities, but also compounded by the fact that deep down, they were too similar.

_We see ourselves when we look at one another, and don’t much care for it._

_We?_ A voice scoffed in his head. _You mean, you? How do you know what your wife really thinks? You have never asked her._

But it was a bridge too far for him, asking her this too. And she had not answered his previous question.

“Is it impossible for you to believe that those things are important to me because … never mind. It doesn’t matter now.” Selyse finally spoke.

 _Why not?_ He wanted to ask, should have asked, but did not.

“Robert should release Ned Stark and send him home to Winterfell with his daughters,” she continued.

“Are the Stark girls giving you trouble?”

“Of course not. They’re smart girls, they know how to survive. With courtesy and wit. The weapon of the weaponless. But I’m sure they would much rather be home with their own family. And I would rather Ned Stark not be here, either as a prisoner or as Robert’s Hand.”

He finally understood what Selyse meant by surviving with courtesy and wit, when Sansa and Arya Stark requested to speak with him after dinner. It was the older girl who did all the talking. Arya was quiet, quieter than she had been even at dinner. He had assumed that they were going to ask to be allowed to go home, but that was not the case.

Sansa was all soft words and courteous gestures, asking permission to see the king.

“For what?”

“To plead our father’s case, my lord.”

“Many people have done that, Ser Barristan Selmy for one. Your father still has plenty of friends at court.”

“But perhaps coming from us, his own daughters …”

Stannis was not really convinced, but who knew? Robert had been reminiscing about Myrcella at dinner yesterday, talking of how happy she was when Sansa and Arya arrived. How much she had liked playing with them, listening to their stories about Winterfell and the North.

“They’re so different in many ways, but so alike in others. They just don’t know it,” Myrcella had told Robert.

“A smart girl, Myrcella. Why isn’t she mine? _My_ daughter. Sweet Myrcella,” Robert had lamented, putting his head on the table, before raising it and launching into another swear-laden tirade about Cersei and Jaime.

“I will ask the king,” Stannis replied stiffly now to the Stark girls. “But if the king does allow you to make your plea, be careful what you say in front of him. You don’t want to make things worse for your father by raising his ire.”

“Father has done a great wrong, we understand that. We only wish to ask for His Grace’s mercy on father’s behalf. His Grace is known for his mercy,” Sansa Stark replied.

He watched her carefully. Did she really believe that? Courtesy. Weapon of the weaponless, Selyse had said.

And what of the other girl, who had been silent the whole time? Unlike her sister, who was meeting Stannis’ gaze as she was speaking, Arya Stark would not look at him. Had not looked at him since she entered the room.

“Anything else?”

“No, my lord. Thank you, my lord,” the girls said in unison, as if it was something they had practiced beforehand.

Stannis stared at the map of the Seven Kingdoms after they left, contemplating the possible routes for a Lannister attack. He traced the map with his fingers, mentally recalling the lords in power at each possible route, how many men they had, and if their loyalty to Robert could be counted on. He was interrupted by a knock on the door. He thought he knew who it was. And sure enough, he was right.

“I suppose you’re here to tell me that you disagree with your sister, about your father having done a great wrong?” He considered the matter for a moment, before continuing. “Perhaps it is better if your sister sees the king on her own.”

Incredibly, she was near tears. “Was it the book?” Arya asked abruptly. “It was the book, wasn’t it? The book I gave my father, that’s what got him in trouble. The book I got from Grand Maester Pycelle.”

It was and it wasn’t, but it was definitely not this girl’s fault. “No, it’s not about the book,” he replied.

“Then what is it about?”

A lot of things. Faith. Trust. Love. Disappointment. None of which he could truly explain to this child. Or to anyone else for that matter.

“It is a misunderstanding that will be resolved. Your father will be released soon.”

“Can you promise that?” She didn’t wait for his answer. “You can’t, can you?”

He recalled his own promise to Ned.

“Your father will not come to any harm.”

“Not from you, maybe. But from the king, you can’t make any promise about what your brother might do. I told you about the stag killing the mother direwolf. I was wrong about which brother is the enemy. I thought it was you, my lord.”

“It’s only a superstitious story. Surely you don’t believe in that kind of thing?” He scoffed.

She did not reply.

He asked her another question. “Why did you ask Grand Maester Pycelle for the book? Were you spying on us?”

“I wasn’t spying! I can’t help it if I overheard things, when I was practicing my dancing. Father wanted to ask Grand Maester Pycelle for the book. You said that would be dangerous. That’s why I asked him for it, because I thought he would not suspect anything if it was me. But maybe he did suspect and that’s why the queen and her brother and the children are gone and Father is in trouble and Sansa and I can’t go home.” She spoke too fast and without any pause.

Hadn’t anyone explained to this girl what her father actually did? Her sister seemed to know all about it, why didn’t this girl?

“That’s not why your father is in trouble.”

“I know. All the servants and the squires were talking about it. He warned her, the queen, so she could run before the king finds out. About … about Joffrey, Tommen and Myrcella not being his.”

“Then it has nothing to do with you.”

“But if I had not given Father the book-“

“We would have found another way to get it.”

She was silent for a while, considering his words. “I choose family,” she suddenly said. “Family, duty, honor, you asked me once, which comes first. I choose family.” She looked like a much younger child suddenly, terrified and vulnerable.

“That’s a fine choice,” he replied carefully.

“It’s a fine choice for children, you mean. And women. But not something a man would choose. Not something you would choose.” She was defiant now.

“No, it’s not about being a child or not a child. A man or a woman. It’s … who you are.”

“But you will always choose duty. And father will always choose honor.”

Once he would have agreed with that sentiment. He was not so certain now.

“People can change. For better or for worse. We are not set in stone, a creature of duty or honor or anything else, at all times.”

“We can’t go home, can we? Sansa and me?”

“Not yet, no.”

She left the room, without asking him to promise anything.

Shireen had been subdued too during dinner, he recalled. In fact, it had been a very uncomfortable meal, with everyone trying to avoid each other’s gaze. It must be strange for his daughter too, the girls she had been playing with since she arrived at King’s Landing, suddenly for all intents and purposes were virtual prisoners in her new home. Did they speak of it, the three of them? 

He stopped by his daughter’s room on the way to his own bedchamber. She was asleep, but restless, her head moving from side to side, her hand grasping the mattress tightly. Dreaming about the stone dragons coming to life and chasing her again?

Should he wake her? Or would the dream pass on its own?

What would her mother do?

Perhaps he should call for his wife.

He could not recall the last time he had felt so helpless. No, in fact he did, it was the time Shireen was ill with greyscale, and almost died. Selyse had sat beside her bed the whole time. He had stayed in the room for a while, but had felt so useless he ended up waiting in the Chamber of the Painted Table instead, staring at the peaks and valleys, rivers and lands of the Seven Kingdoms.

 _Ned Stark would not have done that. If one of his children was ill, he would have stayed in the room with his wife and child_ , Stannis thought. 

 _Ned left Winterfell after his son Bran had his fall_ , he countered himself.

 _Yes, but he left at the command of a king, he had little choice in the matter. He did not leave his wife nursing their child alone merely because he felt useless and uncomfortable_ , the argument continued in his head.

Even Robert, Robert would probably have stayed. Yes, he remembered that Robert went hunting every time Cersei was giving birth, but when Tommen was gravely ill with the fever sweeping the city, Robert had stayed in the room with Cersei.

But not Jaime Lannister. He was waiting outside the door, a Kingsguard doing his duty, guarding the king, while his son’s life was in peril inside the room. Stannis wondered now how Jaime had felt about it.

Stannis did not go out to fetch his wife. He smoothed his daughter’s forehead, whispered her name softly. “Shireen.”

Or perhaps not softly enough, for she woke with a start. Shireen sat up, looking at him with an alarmed expression. “Did something happen?”

“What do you mean? Something bad?”

She nodded.

“No, nothing happened. What makes you think anything did?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. Only … why are you here, Father?”

He should have known. Of course she would be surprised, and concerned. He almost never went into her room, at Dragonstone or when she came to visit at King’s Landing. They only spoke in the solar, in the dining room, or less frequently, in his study.

“You were having a bad dream.”

“Was I screaming?”

“No, you were … restless.”

“Then how did you know I was having a bad dream, Father? If you didn’t hear me.” She looked puzzled.

“I … I came to say good night.”

She smiled. “Good night, Father.”

“Is it the dragons again? In your dream?”

She shook her head slowly. “No.” She seemed reluctant to continue, but did in the end. “I dreamed of Tommen and Myrcella, in the woods, being chased by lions. Joffrey was with them too, I suppose, but I didn’t see him.” She had been looking down as she was saying the words, but she looked up suddenly, her head raised high to meet his eyes. “Are they dead, Father?”

“Why would you think that they are?”

“Only, they’re not here, and they’re not with their grandfather, and some people are saying it’s because they’re dead.”

“Who were saying that?”

“The servants. And the ladies who visited Mother for tea. I don’t remember their names. They said everybody in the city is saying that. They’re all dead. The queen, her brother, Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen.”

The story had traveled fast.

“No, I don’t think they’re dead.”

“But you don’t know where they are?”

“No.”

“Why did they have to go away, Father? Is it because they’re not really my cousins?”

“It’s because the queen and Ser Jaime … committed a crime.”

“But _they_ didn’t do anything wrong, did they? Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen.”

“No. No, they did not.” He tried to smile, but failed miserably. “Do you think you can fall asleep again?”

“Will you stay with me until I do?” His daughter asked.

“Of course.” He did manage a smile this time.

He realized now that he had not thought much of their fate, Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen. Had convinced himself that nothing would happen to them. He had listened to Robert’s laments and regrets about Myrcella plenty of times since they escaped. Even Tommen, a few times. But never Joffrey. About him, Robert had only said, “I should have known he was not mine. How could I have made a son like that?”

Robert might have spared Myrcella and Tommen out of some residual feelings, but would he have really spared Joffrey?

“So you’re fine with one child being killed, as long as it’s not three?” Ned has asked him, that fateful day. He had never answered that question.

Was he truly convinced that Robert would not have harmed any of the children, as Ned was truly convinced that Robert would?

His mother’s words rang in his head. _The most dangerous lies are not the ones told to us by others. Or the ones we tell others. Or even the lies spread about us to others._

_It’s the lie we tell ourselves._

It didn’t matter now, Ned did what he did, and the children were out of Robert’s reach. But Ned’s action had also complicated matters. How should that be weighed, in the balance of things?

Intentions. Consequences. Unintended consequences. Unforeseen consequences.

 _My own actions has unintended consequences too_ , he admonished himself. He realized suddenly that it was him who would not be able to sleep tonight, not his daughter. Shireen was already fast asleep, her hand clutching his. He slid his hand slowly and gently away from her grasp. There was a question he needed to ask Selyse, and if he did not ask it tonight, he knew that it would remain unasked, possibly forever. He kissed his daughter’s forehead and left her room. 

He knocked on his wife’s door, trying to recall if he had done this before, coming to her room without prior arrangement late at night. The answer was a resounding no.

“Come in.” Her voice sounded distracted. She was sitting on the bed, absorbed reading a letter. He fleetingly wondered who it was from.

Her expression turned from surprise to concern within a few seconds. “What is it? Is it Shireen?”

He did not have the time, or courage, for any long preamble. Abruptly said, “Finish your sentence earlier. When you said, is it impossible for me to believe, what did you mean? Impossible for me to believe what?”

She was watching him warily. Folded the letter she was reading slowly and carefully, stood up from the bed to put the letter in a drawer. She walked closer towards him. He realized that he was still standing very close to the door, as if preparing to bolt the moment things got too … awkward and uncomfortable.

Her voice was firm and unhesitating when she finally spoke. “That those things are important to me because they are important to my husband, of course. Even if he would never admit it to his own wife.” She held out her hands to him. Minutes that felt more like days passed. Finally he reached for one of her hands, and used his other hand to close the door.


	15. Duty

“Perhaps we should make haste back to the Red Keep, Lord Stannis.” Ser Jacelyn Bywater’s voice was urgent, less a suggestion and almost a command, from a man who knew the streets of King’s Landing better than Stannis, from a man who had patrolled the streets every day for years.

“I still need to see the preparation at the harbor,” Stannis was insistent.

“Another day, my lord.” The newly-appointed Commander of the City Watch was equally insistent.

The voices had been growing and growing steadily, from barely heard whispers to a chorus of back-and-forth arguments. Stannis had been used to being ignored by lords, knights and common folks alike - the king’s less charming brother, completely devoid of gallantry. They cheered for Renly at tourneys and when he walked or rode through the city; for his smiles and charms, and for his handsome good looks that reminded them of their king when he was young still.

And they still cheered for Robert, drunk and bloated as he was now. “At least ruling has only made him fat and a drunk, not mad and cruel like the old king,” Stannis had heard it said of Robert in the streets more than once.

He had never expected to be cheered, but he had not expected this either. The whispering and pointing of fingers as they made their way through the city, surveying and inspecting the vulnerable points for attack by Tywin Lannister’s army. “The king’s brother,” he heard. “All his doing,” another voice said. “All his plan,” yet another voice grumbled.

“Traitor!” This voice was the loudest of them all so far. Stannis surveyed the battlements to see whose voice it was, but saw only angry and suspicious faces.

“It’s a conspiracy! To steal Prince Joffrey’s throne.” The same voice again, the owner hidden behind the scowling faces and the throng of masses.

“Where’s the king?” The same voice shouted, even louder this time. Stannis gave Ser Jacelyn a look. Ser Jacelyn whispered orders to two of his men to search for this instigator. But it was too late, other voices had joined the fracas, no longer whispering now.

“Is the king dead too? Like the queen and the little princes and princess?” This was a different voice, the tone genuinely aggrieved instead of purposeful as the other one. Not a paid provocateur, this one, Stannis thought. Not like the man who had first shouted “traitor” and “conspiracy.”

Another voice responded, a woman this time. “The king is alive, we’ve seen him reeling and drunk at the castle’s balcony.”

“Drunk, or drugged with a maester’s vile potion? They sent Grand Maester Pycelle away for a new maester,” replied a different woman.

“The Hand’s work,” the man who had asked whether the king was dead shouted. “The king’s brother’s work,” he continued, but this time his voice was joined by many many others. 

“He’s the king’s heir now. With Prince Joffrey’s gone. Lies, all lies, about the queen and her brother.” This was the first voice, that voice who had tried to shield himself from being seen. The paid provocateur, Stannis was certain. He saw a glimpse amidst the crowd. A well-dressed man, too well-dressed to be a common folk.

“He’s got it all now, ain’t he? Lies about Lord Stark, so he can be the Hand. Lies about Prince Joffrey and his little brother and sister, so he can be king one day.”

“Show your face!” Stannis shouted. “Make your accusation in the open, ser.”

Laughter greeted his words. “I am no ser. Merely a common folk concerned about the fate of our beloved king.” He paused. “Show us the king! Show us His Grace is still alive and well! Show us the king!”

A chorus of angry voices repeated his words. “Show us the king! Show us the king!”

“Lord Stannis. Now. We must go now.” Ser Jacelyn did not wait for Stannis’ response, he grabbed Stannis’ arm and propelled him forward.

“Show us the king!” The chanting was getting louder still, interspersed with the occasional shouts of “Traitor!”, and most unbelievably to Stannis, “Usurper!”. 

_Usurper? Who did I usurp? My brother is still king._

Stannis and Ser Jacelyn did not speak until the two guards Ser Jacelyn had sent to find the instigator arrived at the Red Keep.

“Did you find him?” Stannis snapped, his jaw still clenched in anger.

The men looked at Ser Jacelyn anxiously. One of them replied, after a firm nod from Ser Jacelyn. “No, my lord. We caught a glimpse of the man, but he disappeared before we could start a pursuit.”

“How would you describe the man?” Stannis asked through gritted teeth. It was not their fault, with the crowd and confusion, and the man deliberately hiding himself, it was not an easy task. Yet he could not hide his impatience. And disappointment.

“My lord?”

“How was he dressed? Did he look like one of the common folks? That kind of thing.” Ser Jacelyn interrupted, as if he sensed that Stannis was fast losing his patience. And losing his temper.

“He was dressed well, my lord. Not well enough to be a lord, but much better than anything the common folks could afford.”

“A knight, perhaps?” Stannis asked.

“Could be.”

“Has the crowd dispersed?”

“Yes, my lord. Quite quickly after you left.”

“Leave us,” he told the guards. “Ser Jacelyn, attend to me in the council room.”

His left arm was still throbbing from when Ser Jacelyn had grabbed it earlier. He resented the liberties the man had taken. And yet he could not deny that Ser Jacelyn’s action had most probably prevented things from becoming worse. A full-scale riot in King’s Landing, perhaps. It was a near thing as it was. Lord Tywin must be cackling with glee.

 _No_ , he revised his thoughts, _Tywin Lannister does not take joy in a temporary victory, or an incomplete one. He will be too busy planning his next steps._

_Besides, Tywin Lannister does not cackle. Or laugh. Or smile.  
_

Stannis had no doubt that the man who had first shouted “Traitor!” was paid by the Lannisters. And yet, how easy it had been for him to instigate the crowd. The seed of suspicions must have been planted earlier, with all the rumors swirling around King’s Landing. Not just King’s Landing, all over the realm.

Ser Jacelyn was the first to speak when they arrived at the council room. “Lord Stannis, forgive me for … earlier. I feared that-“

Stannis interrupted. “You were doing what you thought you had to. Perhaps it was … unwise of me to challenge the man in front of that restless crowd,” he begrudgingly admitted.

Ser Jacelyn maintained a tactful silence in response, but his expression said it all.

“A crowd like that can be very unpredictable, Lord Stannis,” he finally said. “Especially when there is someone purposefully trying to rile them up.”

Stannis considered the man recently elevated as Commander of the City Watch to replace Janos Slynt. The untrustworthy Janos Slynt. The corrupt Janos Slynt, who had taken bribes and sold places and promotions to his officers. Stannis still remembered the day Jon Arryn had presented the evidence of Slynt’s corruption to the council. 

“But where are the witnesses, Lord Arryn?” Petyr Baelish had asked.

“They are dead, both of them. Mysteriously killed during patrol duty. By a common thief, supposedly,” Jon Arryn had replied.

“ _Supposedly_? Are you accusing the commander of our Gold Cloaks with murder as well, Lord Arryn?” Varys had piped up.

Before Jon Arryn could reply, Robert had put an end to the matter. “Better a thief we know that one we don’t,” had been his reasoning. The next man appointed could be worse. Despite his best effort, Jon Arryn had not succeeded in convincing Robert to set aside Janos Slynt. Neither had Stannis, despite his best effort too.

Until now. Robert had inexplicably agreed to Janos Slynt’s removal, just as he had agreed to sending Pycelle back to Oldtown, something Stannis had also tried to convince him to do for years, but he had always resisted.

Renly had objected to elevating Ser Jacelyn at first. “He is a rigid and charmless man, not well-liked by the other Gold Cloaks,” Renly had said.

“It is not the job of the Commander of the City Watch to be liked. His job is to keep the peace in the city,” Stannis had snapped in reply. “He has served with distinction as Captain of the Mud Gate.”

“The City Watch is under my command as Master of Laws, not yours. I should be the one to choose their Commander,” Renly reminded him.

“The Hand outranks the Master of Laws. Do you have another candidate in mind? And please, not another Tyrell.”

Renly was quiet. “Jacelyn Bywater will do. For now. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. You have been removing too many people from their positions already. Pycelle, Ned, now Janos Slynt. Littlefinger and Varys have been making noises that they are not included in war preparation. They’re saying you’re taking on all the powers for yourself.”

 _I did not remove Ned Stark from his position. That was Robert’s decision. You know that,_ Stannis thought, but did not say aloud.

“Is that what you think too?” He asked his brother instead.

“Of course not. But other people are not your brother,” Renly replied.

He considered Renly’s warning now. “What was that about, the ‘show us the king!’ business?” Stannis asked Ser Jacelyn.

“Lord Tywin has been hard at work spreading various rumors, my lord.”

“I know that. But the rumors have been about the fate of his children and grandchildren, not about the king.”

“There is a new rumor being spread.” Ser Jacelyn hesitated. 

“Well, what is it?”

“That His Grace is at the moment incapacitated in some way, poisoned, or drugged. That the one making all the decisions is the king’s brother. Lord Stannis Baratheon. The king’s heir now that the lies … the lies about the incest and adultery against the queen have succeeded in setting aside His Grace’s rightful heirs.”

“What else?” Stannis insisted, as Ser Jacelyn seemed to hesitate again.

“That the king could be in danger at this very moment, if Lord Stannis is impatient about sitting on the throne. If the people were to rebel, it would not be rebelling against the king, but rebelling to save the king’s life, and to make sure the throne will fall into the hands of his rightful heir after him, and not his scheming brother.”

Stannis grounded his teeth in anger.

“We showed the lords and common folks alike the evidence for the queen’s crimes,” he said.

“Lies, they say. Made-up evidence. If there is enough proof, why has there not been a trial?”

“Because they are not here! We cannot hold a trial without them being here to defend themselves, it would be unjust.”

“I know, my lord. But those are the things being said all over the city at the moment.”

“Why are people so eager to believe that their king is in danger?”

“His Grace has not been since in public since … since the announcement of the queen’s crimes. And the few people who _have_ seen him spoke of him being insensible, and out of his wits.”

“Not true, Robert still attends the Small Council meetings.”

 _Sometimes. When he is not too drunk_ , Stannis thought.

Stannis continued. “My brother has just found out that the children he thought were his are in fact not. He’s allowed to grieve, don’t you think?”

“Of course, my lord. If I may make a suggestion? Perhaps His Grace should be seen in the city. Looking healthy and … sober. To show the people of King’s Landing that he is alive and well.”

 _And still in charge_ , that was the main point, Stannis knew.

He balked at the suggestion, however. “But you saw how dangerous the situation was earlier, you were the one who counseled us to leave. And yet you want the king to parade himself in the city, in that kind of danger?”

Ser Jacelyn cleared his throat. “Every precaution must be taken, of course. But His Grace is still beloved by the smallfolks. Queen Cersei, less so. The anger and violent chatters and near riots only started after Lord Tywin started spreading the words about the king himself being in danger.”

“You mean there have been other occasions like this before?” Stannis had thought his own presence in the streets was the catalyst for the event this morning.

“Not as perilous as it was this morning, but there have been a few close calls. We cannot afford a riot in the city, if there is to be a war with the Lannisters, my lord. We cannot defend the city from an outside threat if half the people in the city are against us.”

Stannis nodded. Ser Jacelyn was right, of course. “What else? Out with it ser, there is obviously something else.”

“The fate of Lord Eddard Stark, the previous Hand of the King, is also a sticking point. The queen is not beloved in the city, people would have gladly believed the accusations against her.”

“I do not want people to believe the accusations because they don’t love her, but because we have shown them the evidence. Lord Arryn died for that,” Stannis snapped.

“Nevertheless, my lord, they find it much harder to believe the accusations against Lord Stark.”

“So what do they think is the _truth_?”

“Some believe that Lord Stark never helped the queen, Ser Jaime and the children escaped. That it was a lie and a false charge, made-up for someone’s convenience.”

“That someone else being myself, of course?”

Ser Jacelyn did not flinch. “Yes, my lord. Others believe that if Lord Stark _did_ in fact help them escape, it must be because he knows the truth, that the accusation against them is false. That is why he is imprisoned now. Or perhaps dead.”

The irony made him want to laugh. “I don’t understand how easily people could believe these stories. I have served my brother in his council with complete loyalty for fifteen years. I have made King’s Landing my home for all that time. And yet -“

“Lord Tywin is  behind all these vile stories, my lord.”

“Yes, but the seeds must have been there already, somewhere, in their minds, long before this. Or they would not believe it so easily now. I have never expected men to love me as they love my brothers, but I do not think I have given them any reason to believe that I am as craven as that. As scheming and unjust as that.”

Ser Jacelyn looked at a loss for words. Stannis cursed himself for saying those words out loud. He missed Davos. He could have said that to Davos, and Davos would have known what to say, if only the hard truths and not anything comforting. But Davos was at sea now, far away from his reach.

“I will speak with the king about being seen in public,” Stannis said. Ser Jacelyn nodded and left the council room.

He was thinking of his wife and daughter now. It was time for them to go back to Dragonstone. Selyse would object, he knew, she would say that a wife’s place is beside her husband’s, even in danger. Especially in danger. But he knew how to convince her, he thought. Shireen. She would leave to keep Shireen safe. He did not trust his daughter’s safety to anyone except his wife.

 _It will be quiet without them here_ , the thought came unbidden from nowhere. He shelved it aside. This was not the time for … for what, exactly? He was not certain.

Devan found him still sitting in the council room poring over maps and papers over an hour later. Two letters, one addressed to him, and one to the Iron Throne. He read them both silently. Bad news, both of them. He paced and turned for what seemed like hours before finally reaching a decision. He knew what must be done now.

He made his way quickly from the council room to Robert’s bedchamber. Robert was already drinking heavily, screaming and shouting at his squires. The other Lannister squire had been removed too, replaced by a Redwyne boy.

A Redwyne and a Tyrell as Robert’s squires. Fate mocking him, Stannis thought. The gods he did not believe mocking him.

 _Not fate or the gods. You were the one who put that Tyrell boy there, to rid Robert of Lancel Lannister_ , he reminded himself.

But not the Redwyne boy, that must have been Renly’s work.

Robert dismissed his squires with shouts of “Out! Get out!”

Stannis sighed. Robert, already drunk before midday. He had been a drunkard for years, but he did not used to start drinking this early. Of late, his mutterings had been less and less about Cersei, Jaime and the children, and more and more about Lyanna Stark.

He was talking about her again now. “Lyanna would have given me sons. And daughters. _My_ sons and daughters. _She_ would never have fucked her brother and fooled me with her bastards.”

“She’s dead. She’s been dead for years,” Stannis said, not for the first time. Or the tenth time. If he had a gold dragon for every time he had said that to Robert, they could have probably paid all the crown’s debt to Tywin Lannister.

“Oh but she was beautiful, Stannis. I wished you had seen her. Even _you,_ cold as ice as you are _,_ would not be unmoved by her beauty. And her grace.”

This was getting tedious. He wondered suddenly if Robert ever went on and on about Lyanna in front of Cersei.

_He probably did._

“You need to release Ned Stark now. This nonsense has gone on long enough,” Stannis said abruptly, before Robert could continue waxing poetic about his dead beloved.

Robert glared at him ferociously. Stannis softened his tone a bit. “If you ever truly cared for Lyanna Stark, then for her sake, release her brother.” _  
_

But that only seemed to increase Robert’s fury. “Don’t!” Robert yelled. “Don’t sully her memory with this … this tawdry business.”

“The North will not take this lying down for much longer.”

“What, that green boy of Ned’s? I will crush that boy and his Northern army, mark my word, if he dares to call his banners,” Robert scoffed.

“We don’t have the resources to fight more than one war. And there is a more pressing concern at the moment. We cannot defend the city if the people in the city are rioting. Rioting against the throne.”

Robert was incredulous. “Why would they riot against me?”

“Not against you, but against the forces they think are behind the throne.” Stannis went on to convey to Robert the information Ser Jacelyn had told him earlier.

Robert was not taking it seriously at first. Stannis lost his patience. “They’re saying I’m pulling your strings. They’re saying you’re helpless, incapable, a shell of a man, less than a king, doing whatever I told you to do. Do you understand that? Do you?”

Robert was about to smash his wine goblet on the table in anger, when suddenly he laughed and put the goblet down slowly instead. The first time Stannis had heard him laughing since the day he told him the truth about Cersei and Jaime.

“You’re only  saying that to raise my anger, so I will do whatever it is you want me to do that will supposedly stop people from saying that. Appealing to my pride. And my fury. You’re not very subtle, brother.”

It was Stannis who felt like smashing a wine goblet on the table this time. Not that he was holding one, but still. “People really _are_ saying that! Ask Ser Barristan. Or Ser Jacelyn. They will tell you the same thing. Littlefinger and Varys won’t, they’ll whisper sweet words to your ears while the city burns.”

Robert stared at Stannis for a long while, before speaking. “So what is it that you think I should do?”

“Release Ned Stark. Now. This very moment.”

“You have said that before, and I have refused, again and again. That should be proof enough that you are not pulling my strings,” Robert laughed again, but more bitterly this time.

Stannis continued doggedly. “Release Ned Stark and make him your Hand again. That will quiet some of the whispers. And you will have to appear in public. You and Ned both. Together. There are rumors that Ned might be dead too.”

Robert stared at him again. “You cannot be serious,” he finally said. “Tell me this is some sort of a sick jape?”

Stannis asked his own question, instead of answering Robert’s. “Why have you not spoken to him? You told me days ago you were going to speak with Ned Stark, and yet you have not done so. You came down to the dungeon a few times to glare at him, said nothing and then left.”

Robert did not ask how Stannis knew about that. “Ned said nothing too. He could have pleaded, could have tried to explain things. But he was silent, silent as a tomb. As if _he_ was reproaching _me_.”

“He’s your prisoner. Would he dare to speak before his king has spoken?”

“I was more than just his king! I loved him, treated him like a brother. He was more a brother to me than my own brothers are. You know the truth of that more than anyone.”

_Yes. Yes I do._

“Then remember that and release him.”

“It is because of that that I cannot forgive him his betrayal.”

_Who said anything about forgiveness?_

“Then release him not for his sake, but for the throne’s sake. For the realm’s sake. To keep the peace in the city. To win this war that is surely coming. It is your duty. Your duty as king.”

Robert started pouring wine into another goblet, and water into the goblet he was drinking from earlier. He offered the goblet with wine to Stannis. Stannis shook his head.

“Drink. It’s a command.”

Stannis shook his head again.

“If you still take me as your king and not just a puppet whose strings you are pulling, take this damn wine and drink, damn it!”

“This is absurd,” Stannis grumbled, but he took the goblet. And set it down on the table. That was enough to satisfy Robert. 

“Duty.” Robert repeated the words several times. “Is that why you’re doing this? Relinquishing a position you have always wanted, that you have always thought should be yours? Or do you mean me to have two Hands of the King?”

“Of course not. The point is to counter the vile rumors about this being a plot to deny Prince Joffrey his rightful inheritance. If I am still your Hand, it would defeat the purpose.”

“And what about you, brother? What should I do with you?”

He could not remember if Robert had ever asked him that question before.

“I will fight this war for you. And there is another task you must send me to do.” He showed Robert one of the letters he had received earlier. The one addressed to Stannis himself.

Robert read the content, and frowned. “Why him? We don’t need him, or his army.”

“I have received words that some of the Lannister forces have sailed to the Arbor, to slip under the cover of the mountains in his lands to reach King’s Landing. Tywin Lannister is preparing an attack from several different fronts, it seems.”

“He would never allow that, surely? Not Tywin Lannister’s army,” Robert countered.

“Not because he wants the Lannisters to win, no. But perhaps, with a full-blown war in the kingdom, a chance to bring back-“

Robert understood immediately. “Then you must see him yourself. Immediately.”

“What about Ned Stark?”

Robert sighed, emptied the water in his goblet with one gulp, and stared longingly at the wine decanter for a long while before turning to face Stannis. “We must all do our duty, I suppose. You have bored me and everyone else about that for years and years. But this is one situation where it is actually true. Let him out.”

“What about-“

“Yes, I will make him my Hand again. If I must, to win this war. But tell him we can never be as we were again. He is a servant of the throne, nothing more and nothing less. I expect complete loyalty from him this time, or else it will not be his freedom I take, it will be his head.”

Stannis took his leave without showing Robert the other letter.

He went down to see Ned in his cell, to tell him the news. Told Ned that the squires were already coming down with his clothes so he could change into proper clothes when he exited the cell. Stannis showed Ned the other letter, the one from Robb Stark, threatening to call his banners unless his father and sisters were returned to Winterfell.

He gave Ned the Hand of the King pin, and the Hand of the King seal. “Make this the first letter you write. Tell your son you have been released, and you are Hand again. Robert must not know about this letter, or your son’s threat.”

“I just want to take my daughters home. Being Hand again-“

“Too bad, that’s not in the cards. The only reason Robert agreed to let you out is to prevent a riot in the city, and to counter all the talks.”

“What talk?”

“That this has all been my plan, to be king after Robert.”

“Surely Robert does not believe that!”

 _Doesn’t he?_ Stannis wondered suddenly with a jolt. He agreed to make Ned Stark his Hand again quite quickly, after resisting to even release Ned for so long before, Stannis thought.

“Robert knows this must be done. And you must know it too, Ned.”

“What about … you?”

“I have another commission to perform for my king. I will leave two days hence, we need to speak of all the preparation and planning done so far before I leave.”

“Leave? Where to?”

“Dorne.”


	16. Dorne (I)

“The arms of House Martell display the sun and spear, the Dornishman’s two favored weapons, but of the two, the sun is the more deadly.” Stannis had first heard Daeron’s words at seven, when he was ill and confined to his bed. Father had read him _Conquest of Dorne_ , even though Maester Cressen had thought the book not yet suitable for boys of eight and seven, and had refused to use it in his lessons, despite Robert’s repeated pleas.

One of the very few times Robert had shown any interest in books at all, Stannis recalled.

“Why is the sun more deadly? It is not a real weapon, not like a spear,” Stannis had asked his father at the time.

“The Dornish sun is not like ours. The sky is blue and the sun shines all year through, and it makes the sand as hot as fire. Many a host from outside Dorne learned this the hard way, slowly cooked in their heavy clothes and armor, withering and broiling on the hot Dornish sands,” his father had replied.

He had read the rest of the book himself after that. Even at seven, he could already guess the points where Daeron had exaggerated his account.

_To glorify himself, and his conquest, no doubt_ , Stannis thought. Even the name caused him to scoff. _The Young Dragon_.

What else had the Young Dragon exaggerated in his account? The strength of his enemies, no doubt. The largeness of the Dornish force at the time of his conquest, Stannis decided. For how could his conquest be thought of as sufficiently glorious if his enemies numbered only in the few?

 Stannis thought of the sun and the spear, and his father’s words, as they spotted the two Towers of Sunspear. The sight of the mighty Tower of the Sun, with its gold and leaded glass dome disquieted him.

As if sensing his concern, Ser Balon Swann suddenly spoke. “It is strange that they did not send anyone to meet us at the harbor, my lord.”

“Indeed,” Stannis replied.

Ser Balon had been handpicked by Ser Barristan to replace Jaime Lannister in the Kingsguard, and to make the trip to Dorne with Stannis. Stannis had known little of him, except that he had fought bravely against Gregor Clegane at Tourney of the Hand, before ultimately being defeated.

Gregor Clegane. Perhaps that was the reason for their lack of welcome. Perhaps Tywin Lannister had offered Clegane’s head to Prince Doran in return for Dorne’s support in the coming war.

_But Doran Martell is no fool, surely_ , Stannis thought. He must know that Clegane was merely the hand that did the deed, not the mind who conceived of the plan.

And Stannis was not really convinced that Tywin Lannister would part with The Mountain that easily. Not when war was coming and his service would be most needed.

How then to explain their lack of reception at the harbor? He recalled the words in Davos’ letter. Davos had failed to seek an audience with Prince Doran to deliver the letter from Stannis. He was shunted from one person to another, first the maester, then the castellan, and finally Prince Oberyn. The younger brother. The Red Viper. Who did not ask for the letter from Stannis, or even inquired as to its content. Who had told Davos that the Prince of Dorne would only grant an audience to Lord Stannis himself, not a mere knight in his service.

The blatant arrogance took Stannis by surprise. The Prince of Dorne had never struck Stannis as a reckless man. But perhaps the explanation could be found in the second part of Davos’ letter, recounting the rumors he had heard at Sunspear.

_It is said that Prince Doran no longer resides at Sunspear, my lord, that he has taken residence at the Water Gardens. That he is ailing, perhaps even dying, and the true ruler is his younger brother Prince Oberyn._

It was Prince Oberyn who had tried to raise Dorne to put Viserys Targaryen on the throne. Jon Arryn had sailed to Sunspear a year after Robert’s coronation, delivering the bones of Prince Lewyn Martell of the Kingsguard, slain at the Trident. Lord Arryn had sat down with Prince Doran, and that had ended any talk of war.

The Prince of Dorne had been very vague and very cautious, never admitting anything, yet promising that any plan or plot would cease immediately, according to Jon Arryn. Jon Arryn had firmly believed that Prince Doran had no knowledge of the plot itself, that it was all the work of his younger brother, but the prince understandably could not admit that, to avoid looking weak and ineffectual in the eyes of his people and his enemies.

Stannis was not so convinced by Lord Arryn’s assessment. Any talk of raising Dorne for Viserys Targaryen did stop immediately after that, and it was said that Prince Oberyn, who was famed for his travel in his youth, rarely left Dorne since then. The Prince of Dorne did manage to put the famously wild Red Viper on a leash after all.

_Perhaps it was the Prince of Dorne himself who had let the snake off his leash in the first place, to test the water_ , Stannis thought. And perhaps the plan had never ceased at all, and had continued quietly in the background for years. Waiting. Waiting for the right time.

Stannis recalled his conversation with Robert, before he left King’s Landing.

“Why are you so convinced that he has plans for his daughter involving Viserys Targaryen?” Robert had asked.

“Because she is one and twenty and not yet married. And not for lack of offers. Hoster Tully, even Mace Tyrell, all had offered their heirs, and all were rejected.”

Robert had scoffed. “Floppy Edmure Tully and crippled Willas Tyrell? Of course they were rejected. I might have done the same.”

_Except you have no daughter to entertain offers for her hand now._ Strangely, Stannis regretted even thinking that thought, even though he had not voiced it aloud.

_No matter. Robert will sire other daughters. And other sons. Trueborn children._

“They were other suitors as well, also from important Houses. All rejected. Instead, Doran Martell only entertained offers from much less prominent Houses, and much older suitors. Walder Frey, for one. Lord Frey is almost ninety.”

“Perhaps he dislikes his daughter. Perhaps he dislikes young men. Who knows why. There could be a thousand different reasons.”

“But he rejected the suitors he himself had first accepted, on the basis that his daughter refused to marry them. Not surprising, considering her youth. He must have known that she would reject those men, so why then did he put them forward as the acceptable suitors? And why did he refuse to consider younger men like Edmure Tully and Willas Tyrell?”

“Because he has to be seen to be considering marriage for his daughter, to avoid suspicion. But he could not risk putting forward a suitor his daughter might accept.” Robert finally understood. He had stopped drinking altogether, since the day he agreed to let Ned Stark out of prison.

Stannis nodded. “Because she was already promised to someone else, in secret. Viserys Targaryen. The only logical candidate. There is no other reason why everything has to be a secret.”

“Then it’s pointless going there. Why would he break that betrothal?” Robert had asked.

“If we can promise them something else, something more … certain, let’s say,” had been Stannis’ reply.

They had finally reached the gate leading to the Towers of Sunspear. Stannis recognized the man at the front of the assembled lords and knights immediately, even if he had not seen him in years, and had only seen him a few times at tourneys before that. The eyes gave him away, eyes as black as night, watching and mocking his prey.

“Lord Stannis.”

“Prince Oberyn.”

“The Prince of Dorne awaits you in the throne room, my lord.”

A very curt and chilly reception. Stannis did not think his wariness could increase further, but it did.

“No, only you, Lord Stannis,” Oberyn Martell waved away Ser Balon and the other guards accompanying Stannis.

Ser Balon answered in a huff. “I am a member of the Kingsguard, charged by His Grace King Robert Baratheon to guard his brother, along with the other guards accompanying us. Lord Stannis does not go anywhere without us.”

Oberyn Martell let out a laugh. “Why, is the king afraid we will murder his precious brother, like his men murdered our sister?”

“I doubt I am as precious to my brother as that, Prince Oberyn. And it was Tywin Lannister’s men who murdered Princess Elia, not my brother’s.”

“Was it? How certain are you of that, Lord Stannis?”

_What’s this? Has Lannister gold spread more rumors and confusion here as well?_

“Only your white knight, then. The rest can wait down here,” Oberyn Martell said in a tone that brooked no argument. Stannis nodded to the rest of the guards to follow the instruction.

Prince Doran was already seated on the raised dais when Stannis entered the throne room with Ser Balon and Prince Oberyn.

_Has he been in Sunspear the whole time, or did he only come back once he heard of my coming?_ The prince looked weary and gaunt, but whether that was because of a journey he had to endure, or because he was truly ailing, Stannis did not know. He knew about the gout, of course, the whole of the Seven Kingdoms knew about Prince Doran’s gout, but the prince’s legs were covered with a thick Myrish blanket, and Stannis could not see how bad they actually were.

“My deepest apology for the lack of a reception party meeting you at the harbor, Lord Stannis. There was some … _misunderstanding_ about the arrangement,” Prince Doran glanced sharply at his brother.

“It is no matter. I am not here expecting to be honored or feasted, Prince Doran. But to discuss an important matter with the Prince of Dorne,” Stannis replied, putting the emphasis on ‘Prince of Dorne.’ Prince Doran merely looked at him with an impassive expression.

_Do I need to spell it out for him? Surely he understands, that I wish to speak with him alone. Without his brother in attendance._

He stared at Prince Doran, who returned his gaze with a smile. A patient smile. As if the prince was the one whose patience was being tested, waiting for Stannis to speak.

Subtlety obviously was not working, he would have to be clear and precise, as was his usual habit and preference in any case.

_Damn it Ned, you were the one who said to be subtle. And not too blunt._

The Prince of Dorne was not a stupid man, Stannis was certain of that. He was obviously merely pretending not to understand. But before Stannis could open his mouth to make clear his intention, Prince Oberyn spoke first.

“Lord Tywin has preceded you in his offer, I am afraid,” he said, in a relishing tone.

“Tywin Lannister was here? At Dorne?” Stannis was shocked.

“No, but his brother was. Ser Kevan Lannister, not two days ago. With a letter from Lord Tywin himself.”

“I sent my man to deliver a letter to Prince Doran much earlier than that, but he was refused,” Stannis reminded them.

Oberyn Martell scoffed. “A lowly knight, who was once a smuggler?”

“Ser Davos is my most trusted man,” Stannis replied stiffly.

“Lord Tywin sent his own brother. His flesh and blood,” the Red Viper would not be defeated.

Prince Doran cleared his throat, and finally spoke. “And now His Grace the king has sent his own brother. So let’s have no more talk about who was sent and who was not, shall we?” He paused, before asking Stannis. “Would you like to know the content of that letter, Lord Stannis?”

_Is this a trap? Why would he tell me the content of Tywin Lannister’s letter?_

“It is up to you whether to reveal it to me or not, Prince Doran. It is your letter,” Stannis replied.

Prince Doran nodded to his brother, who was the one to speak.

“Tywin Lannister offered us the head of Amory Lorch, the real killer of our sister and her children. Who did the deeds under the order of Robert Baratheon, the leader of the rebellion.”

What madness was this? Surely they could not believe the lie? Amory Lorch, yes, he was one of the killers, but not the only one. And Robert?

“His Grace King Robert Baratheon, if you please, Prince Oberyn. He is your king as well as mine. King Robert was injured after the battle at the Trident, he did not know Lord Tywin would be coming to King’s Landing to aid his cause. In fact, he feared that the Lannister forces were marching to King’s Landing to fortify the city’s defenses on behalf of the Mad King. Which is why he dispatched Lord Eddard Stark to march to King’s Landing in his place, as quickly as he could. Why would my brother order Amory Lorch, who was a knight under Lord Tywin’s command, to kill Princess Elia and her children? How could he have even sent word to the man?”

Prince Oberyn looked as if he had expected the question. “He did not order this man personally, of course, he gave the order to the Spider. That is why Varys was kept on as Master of Whisperer, after the fall of King Aerys. Payment for his service. Because as long as Prince Rhaegar’s children lived, King Robert knew his throne would not be safe. And he knew Lord Eddard Stark was not the kind of man who would kill children. He knew he would have to make … other arrangements. That is also the reason why he sent _you,_ and not Lord Stark, to conquer Dragonstone.”

 Stannis ignored the jab pointed at himself, to ask the most important question. “And this is all in Lord Tywin’s letter? Why is Lord Tywin only saying this now?”

“Because the evidence has only recently been found. A letter, from Robert Baratheon, no, pardon me, from His Grace King Robert Baratheon to Lord Varys,” Oberyn Martell replied, fully composed.

_He had expected every question I would have. No, Tywin Lannister had expected every question I would ask, and provided the answers in the letter_. Lies, lies, all of them, but lies that might sound plausible to some ears.

“And who was it who was supposed to have found this … _letter_? This incriminating evidence?” He had to be just as relentless in his questions, Stannis knew. A hole would be poked somewhere, Tywin Lannister could not have thought of everything.

 “The queen, of course. She was horrified, aghast at the extent of her husband’s depravity, and fearful of her own children’s safety. She shared the secret with her twin brother. They discussed what course of action to take, but sadly, they were found out before they could do anything. That was the reason for the vicious, vicious lie about the incest. To stop them from telling the truth.”

_Or perhaps he had._

So it was not the story about the king’s brother wishing to usurp the throne over the king’s rightful heirs being spread at Dorne. That was for King’s Landing, and the rest of the realm. Lord Tywin had chosen his lies very, very carefully.

Stannis soldiered on. “Is Lord Tywin in possession of this letter? The letter supposedly from my brother to Lord Varys, ordering the murder of Princess Elia and her children. Has he shown it to you? Even if he did show it to you, how can you know it is genuine? Letters can be faked, signatures can be imitated, it would take months for the maesters to authenticate.”

Finally his questions were met with silence. But not for long. Prince Oberyn spoke again, still full of confidence. “Why should we tell you everything, Lord Stannis? So you can twist and turn the facts to concoct another lie?”

“It was Lord Varys who warned the Mad King against opening the gate for Lord Tywin’s army to enter the city. Why would he do that if he was working in collusion with my brother all along?”

It was Prince Doran who answered this time, in the tone of a patient father trying to explain things to a stubborn child. A tone Stannis deeply resented. “Ah but you said so yourself, Lord Stannis. Your brother was not certain which way Lord Tywin’s loyalty lie at the time. Of course, this is all only a conjecture. I do not know what the truth is. Yet.”

Oberyn Martell spoke again, in a more blatantly contemptuous tone this time. “And where were you when your brother and Lord Stark were busy fighting the war, Lord Stannis? We did not hear tales of your exploits during the rebellion at all, until after King Robert was safely on the throne and he sent you to Dragonstone to kill the pregnant queen and Prince Viserys. A task that you failed.”

“Viserys Targaryen, whom you tried to raise a rebellion for in his name? And I was not sent there to kill them, but to capture Dragonstone,” Stannis replied, equally contemptuously.

Prince Doran quickly interjected. “Now, now, that was only a misunderstanding, I explained it all to Lord Arryn when he came to bring back the bones of my dear uncle Lewyn. And Oberyn, as you well know, Lord Stannis was at Storm’s End during the war. Defending King Robert’s lands and castle. A most important task. Many a lords and kings have fought wars to conquer other lands, and forgot to safeguard their own, to disastrous consequences. If you cannot hold on to your own castle, how can you be trusted to rule another? That is a lesson we would all do well to heed.”

Stannis and Oberyn Martell continued staring daggers at each other.

“I will speak with Lord Stannis alone now, if you please,” Prince Doran continued. The Red Viper reluctantly left the throne room, his eyes still staring at Stannis until he was out the door.

The Prince of Dorne sighed. “My brother is … too reckless, at times, Lord Stannis. Forgive him his excesses. His blood boils so hot still, the product of youth.”

_Youth! The man is years older than myself._ Stannis did not voice this aloud, but his face must have betrayed his thoughts, for the prince smiled, and spoke softly. “Of course, he was actually born before you. But we are not all born the same age, are we, Lord Stannis? Some of us were born already an old man at heart, and some never grew, no matter how long they have lived. You of all people must know this better than anyone.”

It was an invitation for personal confidences, which Stannis adamantly refused to take. _This man is dangerous, more dangerous than his reckless brother._

“Shall I tell you the truth? The truth behind all the lies Lord Tywin have been spreading?” Stannis said instead.

The prince was not smiling now. “You mean the _truth_ according to the Baratheons? As opposed to the _truth_ according to the Lannisters.”

“The truth according to the facts,” Stannis insisted.

“Very well,” Doran Martell said wearily. “If you must.”


	17. Dorne (II)

The recitation of facts, clearly and succinctly, revealing the truth in the words, and between the words; Stannis had always put his faith in that. He did not know if the Prince of Dorne shared the same faith. He had listened to Stannis’ words without betraying a single emotion on his face. Not skepticism, not disbelief, not belief.

He did not react even to the proposal. Had listened to those words as if Stannis was telling him that it was hot outside. The only exception had been when the Myrish blanket that had been covering his legs was slowly sliding off, and a brief look of panic crossed his face, before the guard with the longaxe replaced it in the correct position.

“I shall think on it,” Prince Doran finally said.

“Thing are moving fast. Waiting-“

“I will need time to consider. To sleep on it. Two days, Lord Stannis. Is that too much to ask?”

“Dorne still owes its allegiance to the Iron Throne,” Stannis reminded him. “Courtesy brought me here, courtesy and respect for the Prince of Dorne. But by right and by law-“

“Would you fight a war against Dorne too? Even now, while Lord Tywin’s forces are moving on King’s Landing from various directions? Where will you find the men?”

“Two days. I will wait two days for your answer.”

Doran Martell nodded. His expression softened, as did the tone of his hoarse voice. “Do not mistake inaction with lack of desire, Lord Stannis. Do not mistake patience for forbearance.” And yet the words sounded more ominous than anything he had said thus far.

“Never, Prince Doran. That is why I am here,” Stannis replied.

_He knows. He knows, or suspects, my suspicion regarding Viserys Targaryen and the marriage alliance with his daughter._

_And it does not seem to concern him._ It was a measure of how weakened the Iron Throne must have seemed to the Prince of Dorne at the moment.

The prince smiled. “There is nothing more to be said, then. Maester Caleotte will show you to your rooms,” he gestured to a short, bald man standing at the back of the throne room, who shuffled quickly and wordlessly to Stannis’ side.

Stannis pondered the relationship between Oberyn and Doran Martell. A more patient older brother struggling to control a more reckless younger brother? A bolder, brasher younger brother struggling to spur his indolent brother to action? Or two brothers working as one, each protecting the other with the face they showed to the world?

There was no real heat even in their disagreement, Stannis thought, as he recalled the scene in the throne room. Doran’s “chastising” of Oberyn had seemed deliberate, practiced. It was as if they were putting on a show. A show for Stannis’ benefit.

 _And I would know_ , Stannis thought, having been involved in many true disagreements with his own brothers.

Their path from the throne room was interrupted by a woman. No, two women. A short woman with black hair who was obviously the leader of the two from the way she carried herself, and a taller, golden-haired woman who looked like a girl from certain angles.

“My princess,” the maester anxiously greeted the black-haired woman. So. This was her. _Arianne Martell_ , Stannis thought. She was shorter than he had expected, considering her father, but perhaps she had inherited that from her Norvosi mother.

Arianne Martell ignored the maester, and spoke directly to Stannis. “What did my father tell you? That he will think on it, or that he will sleep on it?”

He pondered whether to answer. He considered all that he had heard about the heir to the Prince of Dorne, and the relationship between father and daughter.

“He said both,” Stannis replied, finally.

“Will you walk with me to the garden, Lord Stannis?”

“Princess Arianne … your father-“ the maester was even more anxious now.

Her voice was all honey and sweetness speaking to the maester. “I only mean to borrow Lord Stannis for a moment, dear Maester, to show him the beauty of a Dornish garden. It would be such a pity if he leaves without ever appreciating one, do you not think so? I will return him to your care very soon, I promise.” She turned to Stannis with a questioning look. “Lord Stannis, shall we?”

Ser Balon fidgeted besides Stannis, and whispered, “My lord, perhaps-“

Arianne Martell noticed the gesture, and promptly interrupted, “Oh don’t worry, your white knight may come too. And my dear cousin Tyene. We shall be four, not two.”

She would not speak her mind in front of the maester, who would relay all to the father, Stannis knew. He decided to take the chance. “Maester Caleotte, wait for me here,” he told the maester firmly.

The maester was looking even more distraught, but disobeying a king’s brother did not seem to be in his capability. “Of course, my lord,” he sputtered.

The “garden” turned out to be a narrow space between lines and lines of orange trees. It was more secluded and confined that he had expected, a place more suited for improper assignation rather than discussing matters of the realm.

“Perhaps we should speak in a more open place. I do not wish your father to think I am plotting something with his daughter behind his back,” he said stiffly to Arianne Martell.

She laughed. “But isn’t that exactly what you are doing, Lord Stannis? You have detected that there might be … cracks in the relationship between my father and myself, and you seek to exploit it.”

 “It was you who approached me, Princess Arianne. And it was you who alerted me to these … cracks, with your question.”

“I’m sure it was more than just my innocent question. I’m sure you have done your research well.”

“If you think that, then why do you still wish to speak with me? Outside of your maester’s hearing?”

“I have my own reasons.” She was looking around the area. “Don’t worry, my cousin will stay with us the whole time. In case anyone is watching. Tyene is very respectable. Her mother was a septa.”

The other woman certainly looked respectable. No, she looked like a girl actually. A very harmless and innocent girl. But her eyes were her father’s eyes, even if they were deep blue and not black like his.

Arianne Martell was smiling again. “Don’t be cross, Lord Stannis. We are only mutually using each other, for our own purposes.”

“Good of you to admit that.”

“From what I have heard of you, the truth is the best way to convince you. Anything _else_ … will not really work.”

“Anything _else_?”

“Perhaps it is a Baratheon trait. Lord Renly was … very hard to impress too.”

 _My brother had his own reasons for being immune to your charms_ , Stannis thought.

He cleared his throat. “What is it you wish to speak to me about?”

“What did you offer my father for Dorne’s support in the war?”

“What makes you think that is the reason I am here?”

“Don’t treat me like a child, Lord Stannis, like my father does. Of course that is why you’re here. That is why Lord Tywin’s brother was here, not two days ago.”

“That is something you should discuss with your father.”

“My father will not tell me. He does not confide in me.”

“You are his rightful heir, are you not? As the eldest child. According to Dornish law and custom?”

“I am, but only because it is the law. He would sooner have my brother as his heir if he could.”

“Then perhaps … you would find being a queen a more interesting proposition?”

She looked startled. “Queen of what?”

“The Seven Kingdoms.”

“Married to your brother?” The disgust was palpable on her face, though she tried to hide it.

“He is younger than Lord Frey. And younger than most of your other suitors. By _quite_ some years,” Stannis stressed.  

“My, you have done your research about us.”

“As have you. And your father, I am sure.”

“A queen consort does not rule over anything,” she scoffed. “Merely a decorative and pretty ornament at the arms of a king. When I am the Princess of Dorne, I will truly rule over Dorne.”

 “But will you truly be the Princess of Dorne? Would you rather be the mistress of some castle with a husband old enough to be your grandfather, or queen of the Seven Kingdoms, and mother of a future king?”

 “My aunt Elia was supposed to be the mother of a future king. She was supposed to be the queen. Look what happened to her. Cersei Lannister was the queen, look what happened to her.”

She did not wait for his response. He was relieved, for he had none to give.

 “I will think about it.” She said.

“You’re not so different from your father after all.”

“Well, I am his daughter.”

The guard with the longaxe from the throne room suddenly appeared, as if from nowhere. “My princess, your father would like to see you in his solar.”

“Areo Hotah is my father’s captain of the guards, Lord Stannis,” Arianne Martell said. She did not look surprised in the least, as if she had expected him to come.

“I was just telling Lord Stannis about all the interesting places for eating and sightseeing in Sunspear. Since we have planned no feast for him. A grievous oversight, I think. The king’s brother deserves a better welcome, don’t you agree, Areo?”

 “Prince Oberyn your good uncle has arranged a small feast for Lord Stannis and his men in his residence for tonight. But perhaps Lord Stannis would like to rest now, after a long journey. It would not do to disturb him, my princess.”  

“Was I disturbing you, Lord Stannis?” Her voice was deliberately girlish and seductive now, a voice she had not used with him before. _This is not a performance for me_ , Stannis realized, _she knows it will not work with me, this is a performance for her father’s guard, and by extension her father._

To what end? Merely to provoke her father? Or something more?

“Very well, I will go to my father now.” She turned to look at Stannis. “I hope you will enjoy the feast at my uncle tonight, my lord. Although our food can be too … hot, for the taste of outsiders.” Her palm grazed his arm as she was saying the last sentence, which caused Stannis to flinch, and Areo Hotah to cough. A warning cough. No doubt Areo Hotah would tell all to her father, and no doubt that was exactly what she wanted.

“I will show you to your room, my lord,” Areo Hotah said, after Arianne and Tyene had left.

He was given a room atop Tower of the Spear. Comfortable, but the decoration and the carpet was too rich for his taste. It was Tyene Sand who came to fetch him for the feast that night. One of Oberyn Martell’s baseborn daughters. That he should send his daughter! Why not one of his guards, or squires?

“My father has only sired daughters, my lord, and no sons,” Tyene Sand suddenly spoke, as if she knew what he was thinking. “You were grinding your teeth, I assume you were … annoyed? Because I am sent to fetch you?” She continued, by way of explanation.

_Well, you assume too much._

“I was expecting him to send a guard, or a squire. Not his own children. Sons _or_ daughters.”

She did not seem put out by his harsh tone. “You have a daughter yourself, I have heard?”

“Yes.”

“How old is she, if I may ask?” She looked contrite suddenly. “Or perhaps I should not be too intrusive. Forgive me, my lord.” Tyene Sand lowered her eyes.

 _But you are not really sorry at all._ He was almost fooled. _You are better at this game than your cousin the wily princess_ , Stannis realized.

“Nine,” he replied.

“And what is her name?” Her tone was unfailingly courteous, and yet determined.

“Shireen.”

“Shireen Baratheon. A beautiful name. For a beautiful child, I am sure.”

Was she mocking his daughter?

“Beauty is overrated. But perhaps those like you and your cousin would not think that.”

“Why ever would we not, my lord?” She asked in a completely innocent voice.

Stannis did not reply.

At the feast, he was seated between Oberyn and the woman he had introduced as his paramour, Ellaria Sand. Ser Balon Swann had also been invited, seated between the two daughters who looked like the two eldest. They could not look more different than one another, one big-boned, the other tall and willowy. Ser Balon looked extremely uncomfortable, as if he would rather be swallowed whole by the hot Dornish sand than enduring this.

 _At least he’s not seated between Arianne Martell and Tyene Sand_ , Stannis thought. Who knew what mischief they could have planned. Arianne Martell was not in attendance.

 “My niece had hoped to attend as well, but her father has need of her company tonight,” Prince Oberyn had said.

_Her father does not want her speaking to me, you mean._

 Stannis had been responding to Ellaria Sand’s polite queries about King’s Landing, when Oberyn Martell interrupted. “I suppose you disapprove of my lifestyle, Lord Stannis? I hear whoring and gambling are banned at Dragonstone, and rapists are gelded?”

 “Does your … _lifestyle_ involve whoring, gambling, and raping?”

 “Well, I have never needed to pay for a woman, even if she is a whore. Gambling for money does not interest me. And I have never needed to force myself on any woman,” Oberyn Maryell replied, highly amused.

“Then it is not my place to approve or disapprove.”

“You disapprove of your brother’s bastards.”

“I disapprove of the actions that led him to siring many bastards.”

Why Oberyn Martell had chosen not to wed his paramour was something Stannis could not understand. Their little daughters could have been trueborn, instead of what they were.

The food was very spicy, but Stannis had expected that. The main event was a roasted snake, with a sauce that looked like it might burn the roof of anyone’s mouth poured over it.

“The best snake sauce always contains a small amount of the venom. The secret ingredient making it so delicious,” Tyene Sand said.

Ser Balon looked like he was about to throw up, his face pale. But then he composed himself, and said, “Perhaps Prince Oberyn would like to taste the dish first, to show us the correct way of enjoying it.”

Laughter rang around the table, from everyone except Stannis and Ser Balon. And Ellaria Sand. She looked at Stannis almost apologetically.

Oberyn Martell spoke. “Ahh, Lord Stannis’ white knight is afraid we are trying to poison Lord Stannis with snake venom. No, no, I am not offended, he is merely doing his duty. If the king’s brother were to perish under his guard, Ser Balon might lose more than just his white cloak. Very well, I will eat first.”

He waited a few minutes after trying the dish before announcing, “See, I am still alive, and well.” He waited for Stannis to eat. Stannis did. It burned the roof of his mouth and his tongue, but he ignored it. _He’s testing me._

Stannis spent the next day walking through Sunspear. He hated the crowd and the noise, the same way he hated them in King’s Landing, but felt it was necessary, to get the lay of the land, and to see if Lord Tywin’s lies had spread to these streets too. Ser Balon was by his side, but he had ordered the other guards to walk discreetly at a distance behind them, to avoid undue attention.

They were recognized as outsiders anyway. They looked different, their clothes were different. That did not concern Stannis as much. In the market and the streets, no one seemed to be talking about the war, or the comings and goings at King’s Landing. Stannis heard no talk of Robert, or Cersei and Jaime, or incest, or bastard children. Or Tywin Lannister. Or the king’s brother trying to usurp the throne. The war had not reached the people of Dorne, the knowledge seemed to be confined to the palace.

But at the harbor, they did hear talks, from the traders and merchants trading gossips with the locals. “Which way will Dorne go? Support the throne, or Lord Tywin?” Asked one of the traders.

“Nowhere,” Stannis heard one local man answering. “Prince Doran will delay and prevaricate, and make no decision at all, until the war is over. That is his way.”

“Perhaps not a bad way,” the trader replied. “Maybe no Dornishman will have to lose his life in this stupid war.”

Stannis was summoned to meet Prince Doran the morning of the second day. He had expected to have to wait until the end of the day, but the sun was just starting to rise when Areo Hotah knocked on his door. He was escorted not to the throne room this time, but to the prince’s solar.

After a few gentle queries about how he had spent his days, which Stannis answered perfunctorily, knowing that the prince must already know the answers to those questions, Prince Doran announced that he could not accept the proposal to wed Arianne to King Robert.

“I will order our hosts to defend the mountain passes and the Boneway. Lord Tywin’s army will never pass through Dornish lands to get to King’s Landing. In fact, our men have already captured a few of them sneaking across the mountain passes, they are imprisoned in our dungeon now. You may interrogate them if you wish, Lord Stannis. But as to the marriage pact, we are honored, but I am afraid we must decline the offer.”  

“Many other Houses would clamor for this chance. Lord Tywin certainly did, after the war fifteen years ago. And Lord Tyrell and various other lords now. For the chance to make their daughter the queen of Westeros. It is … interesting that you do not,” Stannis replied.

“Interesting?” The prince raised his eyebrows. “What an … _interesting_ choice of word, Lord Stannis. I have heard you are famed for your bluntness, and for not mincing words or suffering fools gladly. Why the sudden hesitancy to be blunt now? You mean suspicious, do you not?”

“Yes, I do mean suspicious. Unless of course you already have her promised to someone else. Someone you hope to raise to the Iron Throne one day. A Targaryen.”

“Now we are getting somewhere. There is no Targaryen, Lord Stannis. Not for Arianne. There is only that girl now, and she is married. Arianne can hardly marry her, can she? Of course, this is all assuming you are right about there being a plan in the first place. That is just … your own conjecture at this point.”

Stannis ignored the denial.  “Viserys Targaryen?”

“Is no more.”

“Dead? “

“Let’s just say he should no longer trouble you. Or your brother.”

_That was why he wanted me to wait two days, he was seeking confirmation of the news perhaps._

Doran Martell was watching him carefully.

“If he is truly dead, then why will you not accept our proposal? It is a good way to strengthen the relations between Dorne and the Iron Throne.”

“You mean it is a good way to ensure Dorne’s loyalty to the Iron Throne, by making Arianne a hostage in case there is a war? Like what was done with my sister. She and her children should have been sent to Dorne for safety, or at least allowed to follow Queen Rhaella to Dragonstone. But Aerys wanted to ensure our support in the war, so he kept Elia at King’s Landing, to be raped and butchered and murdered. Did she scream, do you think? I often thought of her last moments. Did they kill the children first? Did they make her watch them murdering her children, before raping her and murdering her?”

“She was … the wife of the Crown Prince. Your daughter will be queen, it will be different. She would have a bigger say in the …”

“Like Rhaella Targaryen? She was a queen, was she not? How powerful was she in the end?”

The Prince of Dorne continued. “My late mother and Lord Tywin’s wife were great friends, did you know that?”

“I have heard of it, yes.”

“She took Elia and Oberyn to Casterly Rock one year, to arrange their betrothal to Lord Tywin’s golden twins. Ah, yes, the twins who have caused your brother so much trouble. But Joanna Lannister had already died giving birth to that imp when they arrived. And Tywin Lannister would not hear of the match. _My daughter is meant for the Crown Prince_ , he said, _not the younger son of the Princess of Dorne_. He rejected Elia too, all the while he was making a match for his precious Jaime with Lord Tully’s younger daughter. The look on his face when Rhaegar married Elia instead.”

Prince Doran paused, for a very long time. Stannis shifted in his seat, waiting for him to continue. He finally did. “Do you think that’s why he did it? Ordered his men to kill my sister and her children? Vengeance for the slight against his daughter? The slight against himself, and his mighty House?”

So Doran Martell did not believe Tywin Lannister’s lies in that letter after all.

“I don’t know,” Stannis said. “But I do not think Lord Tywin is that sort of a man. If he wanted her dead, it would be for a reason, something that would have a measurable benefit, not merely to fulfill a personal vendetta.”

Doran Martell nodded. “I’ve wondered myself, if his men overreacted. Oh, I have no doubt he ordered them to kill Elia’s children. Rhaegar’s children, to curry favor with your brother, to prove the loyalty of House Lannister to the new king, by removing the threats to Robert’s throne. But Elia was not a threat the same way her children were.”

“Did that absolve Lord Tywin in your calculation, if he did not order your sister’s murder?”

“Of course not. Elia’s children had Dornish blood flowing inside them too. My niece and nephew. And she loved them, loved them with all her heart, almost died bringing them into this world. And whether he ordered Elia’s murder or not, he knew the men he sent to kill the children. He knew what sort of monsters they were. He knew what he was unleashing.”

The prince paused again, before continuing. “I’ve wondered too at times, if Aerys did it to spite Tywin Lannister. Choosing Elia as Rhaegar’s bride. _The woman you rejected for your son, as my son’s bride, in place of your daughter, as you had hoped and wished for._ ”

Stannis said nothing.

“You are impatient with all these speculations,” Prince Doran observed.

Stannis did not deny it. “He is dead. The Mad King is long dead. Speculating about the motives of the dead are pointless. We will never know for certain.”

“On the contrary. If we do not learn from the dead, we are bound to repeat their mistakes.”

“The dead is powerless to teach us.”

“And yet the living, who could bring justice for the dead, waited years and years before even offering the possibility. And even then only because they are desperate. Your brother has been king these last fifteen years, where was the justice for my sister and her children? His mouth might not have given the command, his mind might not have planned the treachery, but do you deny that he was relieved? Relieved that the threats to his throne had been removed, without him having to dirty his own hands?”

“Why have you decided to stop Lord Tywin’s forces from coming through your lands, if you believe my brother equally guilty?”

“Because sadly, sometimes the choice is only between the guilty, and the guiltier.”

_Or perhaps you still have other plans brewing, developing._

“Maybe your daughter would think different. Maybe she would cherish the possibility of being the queen of the Seven Kingdoms.”

Doran whispered to his guard, who went outside for a moment and walked back in with Arianne Martell. She must have been waiting outside the door the whole time.

“My daughter is here. Why don’t you ask her yourself, Lord Stannis?”

“No need, father. I will answer. I would rather stay here as the ruling Princess of Dorne than be an ornamental queen at King’s Landing.”

“You did not seem so certain two days ago,” Stannis said.

“I am now.” She took her father’s arms. Father and daughter had obviously spoken, and whatever rifts there had been seemed to be mending.

“Be content with what we are willing to give, Lord Stannis. Dorne will not side with House Lannister in this war.”

“I have never thought that you would. It is quite another House I am concerned with.”

“Then your concern is for naught. That House is no more, except a girl forced to marry a horselord, thousands of miles from here.”

The girl who was with child, Stannis recalled. Another secret marriage pact? With an unborn child, perhaps? Surely Arianne Martell could not wait that long to wed.

“There is a particular prisoner among the Lannister men we captured that I think would be of a particular interest to you, Lord Stannis,” Doran Martell said. “Areo will take you to see him.” It was clearly meant as a dismissal.

Stannis and Areo Hotah made their way down the tower steps without speaking. They stopped in front of a particular cell. Areo Hotah barked at the prisoner, who stood up and approached the bars. Stannis stared at the disheveled and terrified young man. It was Lancel Lannister’s face staring back at him.

 


	18. For King and Kingdom

“Home at last,” Ser Balon’s relieved voice was still audible amidst the hustle and bustle of the harbor.

Home. Stannis pondered the word, and all that it entailed. Was King’s Landing home for him? Or Dragonstone? Neither, he decided. Not Storm’s End either, not now anyway. He had not set foot at Storm’s End for years.

They were met at the harbor by a man in white cloak leading a succession of other guards. Ser Arys Oakheart of the Kingsguard, Stannis recognized him. _How did he know we would be arriving today?_ Stannis had sent no raven announcing their return. With the prisoner they were bringing back, he preferred to keep their arrival a secret.

“Lord Stannis. We’ve been praying for your safe return.”

“Ser Arys. A surprise, ser. How do you know we would be arriving today?”

“We have been watching the harbor waiting for your arrival since three days ago, my lord.”

“Why?”

“I am to escort you to the Red Keep to meet His Grace the king immediately, my lord.”

“Is it the king’s command?”

Arys Oakheart hesitated, before replying. “Yes, my lord. It is.”

Stannis was wary. He glanced at the guards accompanying Ser Arys. Palace guards. Ser Arys must have sensed his hesitation. He handed Stannis a letter. From Ned. His handwriting, his seal as Hand of the King. “Come quickly. I’ll explain everything later,” the letter said simply.

Stannis turned to Ser Balon. “Will you take command of this prisoner, Ser Balon? And proceed as we have discussed.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Stannis followed Ser Arys and the guards. “What is this about? Why the need for such haste?”

“I am only following orders, my lord, and my order is to escort you to the Red Keep the minute you arrive.”

To Stannis’ surprise, they were not going to the throne room, or the council room, or even to Robert’s study or solar. They were walking towards Robert’s bedchamber. He stopped a few steps from the door, his hand taking hold of Ser Arys’ arm. “Has something happened to my brother? Tell me!”

The man gave no answer, but the look he gave Stannis was answer enough. “You are to go in, Lord Stannis.”

 _But we’ve been so careful, taken every precaution, removed any and all Lannisters and men loyal to the Lannisters_ , he thought. What had he overlooked? Littlefinger and Varys? Was this their handiwork? His hand was on the doorknob, but somehow the door was still closed.

“My lord? Should I … open the door for you?” Arys Oakheart’s voice interrupted his reverie. Stannis ignored the question, gritted his teeth, and opened the door himself.

His eyes spotted Ned first. Then Renly and the new Grand Maester sent by the Citadel to replace Pycelle. And Maester Cressen. What was he doing at King’s Landing? Robert must have sent for him.

Robert was lying in bed, his face pale, eyes closed. But alive. Still alive, from the unsteady rise and fall of his chest. No sign of external injuries, Stannis determined. Poison? Three days, Ser Arys had said. They had been waiting for him to arrive from Dorne for three days. Was that how long Robert had been ill? What kind of poison would take that long to kill? But Robert looked as if he had been ill a lot longer. He looked as if he had spent much longer confined to that bed.

Ned spotted him. “He’s sleeping. He was asking for you earlier. Let’s talk next door,” he whispered softly to Stannis. Stannis followed him to Robert’s study.

“What happened?” Stannis asked immediately. 

“A fever. The same fever sweeping some parts of the city now,” Ned replied.

“Is anyone else sick at the Red Keep?” Shireen. His thought went to his daughter first. Selyse had refused to sail back to Dragonstone, and there had been no time to argue with her before he had to leave for Dorne.

“Only a few servants, but all have recovered. A few dead in the city, but they were mostly the old and infirm. Too weak to resist the fever.”

Relief. He was flooded with relief. Arys Oakheart’s expression, the hushed, funereal tone in Robert’s room. He had simply misunderstood things. Robert was not old. Or infirm. He would recover.

But Ned’s expression was clearly saying something else. Stannis could not understand it. “If it’s only a fever surely he will recover. Surely he will survive.”

 _Stop looking at me like that_ , he wanted to shout. _Stop looking at me as if the world is about to end._

“Ned?”

“The maesters said Robert was already weak, from all the drinking, and … his grief.”

“He has stopped drinking. Completely. Since he agreed to let you out.”

“And that is part of the problem. He should have stopped gradually, according to the maesters.”

The maesters. Ned kept saying the maesters. Which maesters? But before Stannis could ask, the Grand Maester walked into the room himself.

“His Grace is awake, Lord Stannis, and asking to speak with you.”

“Have you considered poison?” Stannis asked curtly.

“Lord Stark mentioned the possibility, when His Grace first fell ill. I have conducted all the examination, this is a regular fever, my lord, I am certain of that. As is Maester Cressen. We have consulted together on the matter. You can ask him yourself, my lord.”

“I will.” _I definitely will._ “If it is only a fever,surely there is something that can be done. My brother is young, and healthy. He cannot die from a fever. It makes no sense.”

“We have tried everything, my lord. Sometimes … the body is just too weak. Or the spirit is.”

His ears burned listening to the maester’s words. “You will kindly watch what you say about your king.”

“Stannis.” It was Ned’s voice. “Go to him. Now. He’s been asking for you for days.”

There was only Cressen in the room, sitting beside Robert’s bed. Robert whispered something to Cressen that Stannis could not hear, and the old man shuffled out of the room.

“When did he get so old?” Robert asked.

“He’s almost eighty. What did you expect?”

“You blink and people get old so suddenly. Or they die.”

 _Gods I do not believe, grant me the strength_ , Stannis prayed, to no one and nothing at all.

“What’s this nonsense about you dying?”

“It’s not poison, and there’s nothing they can do. Cressen agrees with the Grand Maester. If you don’t trust the Grand Maester, at least trust the man who raised you after mother and father died.”

“This is absurd. You’re only doing this to spite me. They’ll say this is my doing.”

 “You weren’t even here when I fell ill.”

 “Precisely. I planned for it to happen while I was away to avoid suspicion.”

 “Yes, Stannis, I’m dying to spite you. To make life more difficult for you,” Robert tried to roll his eyes, but could not quite manage it.

“You’re not dying. It’s only a fever. You can fight this.”

 “Well, you and I have always known the gods have their cruel streak, don’t we? Although there’s a certain … delicious irony in it, after all your worry about the Lannister doing something to harm me.”

“The gods!” Stannis scoffed.

“There’s not much time left, there’s no time for your denial and your anger for the gods. Ned has the papers. My last will and testament, disinheriting Joffrey, Tommen and Myrcella, for the crime of not being my children, and naming you my rightful heir. They won’t be able to dispute that, I signed it in the presence of all the Small Council members, and the High Septon. And Mace Tyrell.”

“Mace Tyrell?”

 “I made him Master of Ships. Well, you can’t be both king _and_ Master of Ships. Don’t fire him once you’re king, you’ll need his loyalty.”

 _Once you’re king._ Robert was moving too fast, Stannis was struggling to catch up.

 _Wait for me. Don’t run so fast._ He must have said that countless times to Robert, when they were boys. Or at least thought it, but not said it out loud.

Robert was still running now, away from his reach. Too fast and too far. “Make Renly your heir immediately after your coronation. It’s fine, it’s understood that it’s only temporary until you have a son. You were my official heir until Joffrey was born too. You don’t have to give him Dragonstone, I suppose, since he already has Storm’s End. I told Renly to be patient, to wait his turn. I told him, Stannis might not even sire a son.”

Uncomprehending look from Stannis.

“I’m not telling you not to sire a son. But Renly is easily led around by other people. The Tyrells, for example. The last thing we need is a Baratheon civil war. Tywin Lannister would be dancing a jig. His grandsons will never sit this throne. I won’t have it! Keep Renly and the Tyrell on your side. Promise me that.”

“I won’t lie to Renly. I’m not going to tell him I will not sire a son.”

“You don’t need to say anything. Just keep being the way you are with that wife of yours. Renly will believe what he wants to believe.”

Robert was flagging, his eyes half-shut. He grabbed Stannis’ hand suddenly. His hand was hot with fever, hotter than the Dornish sun. “You’ll hate it, being king. You’ll grind your teeth and clench your jaw and probably break both before the year is over.”

“I’ll try not to break your kingdom,” Stannis said wryly.

“It’s not the kingdom I’m worried about.” Robert fell silent, his eyes closed. Stannis panicked at first, but was relieved when he saw the steady rise and fall of his chest. Cressen walked in again. His hand was checking Robert’s brow. “We didn’t think he’d last this long,” he said. “But he wanted to wait. For you.”

“We? Are you in agreement with the Grand Maester’s diagnosis?”

“Yes, yes. We’ve done everything we could.”

“I need to speak with Ned again.”

“He’s in Robert’s study, writing letters. And waiting. Go. I’ll sit with your brother.”

There was no sign of Renly. Ned was startled when Stannis walked in. “Is he ..?”

“No, he’s only sleeping. Maester Cressen is with him.”

 “Why wasn’t I told? A raven.”

“We didn’t know if you had left Dorne. It would be unwise if the raven fell into the wrong hands.”

“I was the one who told him to go out to the city, to show himself to the people,” Stannis blurted out suddenly.

“A wise advice. Riots almost broke out a few times before, Ser Jacelyn told me.”

“I was the one who told him to stop drinking.”

“You couldn’t have known he would completely stopped altogether. Or how that might affect the state of his body.”

“No doubt Lord Tywin will use this to further his lies about my plots and schemes and what I intended. How I intended my brother to die to gain the throne. How I plotted and schemed so he would die. That would be a lie. But my brother is going to die because of my actions nonetheless. Even if I had not intended that. Consequences. Unforeseen consequences. Unintended consequences.”

Ned stood up, and walked towards him. “It is not your fault.”

“Then whose fault is it?”

“No one. Sometimes … things just happen. A sequence of events leading to another event.”

“I refuse to accept that. Someone is always responsible. Someone is always at fault.”

Who had he blamed for his parents’ death? The storm? The Mad King, for sending them on that futile trip? His father, for not saying no to the Mad King? The gods? Everyone and no one. All of them and none of them.

Ned was back in his chair, slumped, lost in thoughts. _This will be his loss too, a greater loss than mine, perhaps_ , Stannis realized.

“Have you and Robert ..”

“Made our peace? Yes.”

Stannis did not think it his place to probe further.

“What happened in Dorne?” Ned asked.

“Doran Martell refused the offer, which is fortuitous now, considering …”

“He’s supporting the Lannisters?” Ned was incredulous.

“No. Lord Tywin tried spinning some lies about Robert being the one who ordered Elia Martell and her children’s murder, but the prince did not believe it. They’ve captured Lannister men trying to sneak pass the mountains. Dorne will be on our side, for the war with the Lannister at least.”

He was about to tell Ned about Lancel Lannister, when someone knocked on the door. “Come in,” Ned said.

It was Stannis’ wife, holding Shireen’s hand. He had not even sent words to them that he had arrived back at King’s Landing, in all the confusion. “The king sent for Shireen,” Selyse said, before he could explain. “He wanted to see his only niece.”

“Will you come with me, Father?” Shireen said. “I’m afraid,” she whispered.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of. But yes, let’s see him together.”

 Selyse stopped at the door. “He did not send for me. And I already saw him yesterday. He sent for me yesterday.”

Cressen was still in the room. Robert was awake. “Come here, child,” he said.

Shireen looked at her father anxiously. Stannis nodded. She walked to the bed.

“Sit.” Robert’s hand was patting the bed. Shireen obeyed. She looked so tiny.

“I should have seen you more, should have spent more time with you. Do you like King’s Landing?”

She hesitated slightly, before nodding slowly.

“You are going to be a princess, and live here from now on. Would you like that?”

“A princess?” Her voice was tremulous.

“You’ll be a kind princess, won’t you? Like Myrcella?”

She nodded again. “That’s good. Now go to your mother, I need to speak to your father.”

She stepped down from the bed, and gave Robert a quick peck on his cheek. Robert managed a smile. Cressen made a move to leave with her, but Robert stopped him. “No. Stay, maester.” He stared at Stannis. “The children. You’ll spare them their lives, won’t you? Even Joff?”

“Of course. They have done nothing wrong. The crimes are Cersei’s and Jaime’s.”

“Your throne will not be safe as long as they’re alive, I know that. Do whatever you think is necessary. Send them to exile a thousand leagues away guarded by a thousand guards if you must. But spare their lives. I’ve told Ned to cancel the arrangement regarding …” Robert paused and glanced at Cressen, looking ashamed. “Regarding Daenerys Targaryen. I was wrong. It was an evil thing to do.”

Stannis nodded.

“And don’t send Cressen back to Dragonstone so soon, you might need him here.”

Stannis nodded again.

 “I had so many things I wanted to tell you, but everything is such a muddle now. I can’t remember.”

Stannis took his hand, and squeezed it gently. “Stop worrying. You have arranged everything very carefully.” And he had. Robert in his last days was proving to be more methodical and systematic than Stannis had ever known him to be.

“No. No, it’s not about the kingdom, or the throne. Something else. I don’t remember now.”

“You’ll tell me when you remember.”

They were silent for a long time. It was not an uncomfortable silence.

“You won’t remember me too badly, will you?” Robert asked.

“People remember only the good. Eventually.”

“But you’re not like other people.”

“I’ll remember you as you are. The good and the bad.”

 _Because that is the only way to truly honor a life_ , Stannis thought.

“My brother. Honest and truthful to the end.” The words stung, but Robert’s obvious and strained effort to smile took some of the edge off. His eyes closed again.

And they would never open again. Cressen and the Grand Maester came to check on him, conferred for a long while, then told Stannis Robert would not wake again. Would slide slowly from sleep to death.

“How long?”

“Before morning, I should think. He wouldn’t last the night,” the Grand Maester replied.

“Perhaps you would like to change, my lord? And eat. You have not eaten anything since you arrived this morning,” Cressen said.

“No. I will wait here.”

“Maester Cressen has not eaten since the morning either,” the Grand Maester said. “I have asked the squire to bring something for you in the king’s solar.”

“I want to be here, when …”

 “It will not be that quick, Lord Stannis. You can take a few minutes to eat. I will stay with him.”

Cressen looked frail, and ready to drop. “Come, maester. We do not need another sick person in our midst,” Stannis said.

They ate in silence.  Stannis ate quickly, barely tasting the food. He waited for Cressen to finish eating, but the maester said, “Go on, my lord. I think I will just … sit here, for a bit.”

 “Of course. Perhaps you would like to retire to your room, and rest, maester? I’ll send someone to fetch you, when …”

“No, no. Only a moment. I only need a moment, my lord.”

Stannis nodded. He was at the door when he heard Cressen’s voice. “It was a cruel storm that took Lord Steffon and Lady Cassana, and such an evil day it was. But today, my lord, today … for the very first time, I’m glad that they’re dead. I’m glad they’re not still alive to see this day.”

“Parents should not outlive their children.”

“No, my lord, they should not.”

Stannis walked back into Robert’s room, Cressen following him just a few minutes later, followed by Renly. They waited in silence, the Grand Maester coming in and out, checking Robert’s pulse, conferring with Cressen.

Sometime during the night, Ned came into the room, saw the people already there, and said softly, “I’ll wait outside.”

“No. Stay,” Stannis said. It was right that Ned should be there too with them.

Stannis stood up and walked to the window. It had started raining. Ned was speaking softly to Robert. Could he still hear? Renly stood up too, standing beside Stannis.

“Was it like this too? When you and Robert were waiting for mother and father, that day?”

“It was a ferocious storm, not a light drizzle like this. And we weren’t waiting for them to die, we knew they were dead already. We were only waiting for the bodies to be washed ashore.”

 “I wish I remember.”

Stannis stared at his brother. The only brother he would have left, soon. “I’m glad that you don’t.”

 “We’ll always remember this.”

 “Yes, we will.”

 Renly sat back down beside the bed. Ned was silent now. Waiting. They were waiting. Rise and fall. Rise and fall. Longer and longer between cycles. But still rising and falling, softly. Stannis’ eyes were fixated on Robert’s chest. After a while he had to look away, had to look out the window again.

“You should sit, my lord.” Cressen’s voice. “No,” he replied without looking at him.

He was transfixed watching the falling of the rain, heavier now. Thinking of that day they first went to court, when Robert had held his hand. There was another part of the story he had not told Renly, or anyone. Father had stayed outside the throne room talking to some lords or other after the ‘king’ had left.  Robert, his hand still holding Stannis’ hand, had sneaked inside the throne room again. Stannis had resisted at first, whispering insistently, “No, we’re to wait here with Father!”

But Robert had paid him no mind, and Stannis did not want to let go of his brother’s hand. The throne room was empty. They walked up the steps to reach the Iron Throne itself. Stannis was holding out his free hand to touch it, but Robert quickly batted it away. “Don’t! You’ll hurt yourself. It’s sharp, it’s made from swords, you know.”

“Swords? Why?”

“To make it uncomfortable, I suppose. So people won’t want to fight for it.”

 “I wouldn’t want to sit on a chair like that,” Stannis said.

“No one will ask you to sit here, silly. It’s only for Targaryens.”

“And we’re Baratheons.” Stannis had just started learning the names of the different Houses.

“That’s right, we’re Baratheons,” Robert had said proudly.

“Your Grace.” A voice was calling, insistent, interrupting his recollection of that day. The Grand Maester’s voice. Fool, Stannis thought. Let him sleep. Let him rest.

He heard Renly’s voice next, broken and full of tears. “Robert.”

Another voice, Ned’s this time, “Your Grace.” They were not calling for Robert, he suddenly realized. He was still looking out the window.

_Turn around. Turn around and do your duty._

He looked down at his hands. They were steady. They were not shaking. He was not afraid.

Then why was he not turning around?

Because he wanted to stay in that throne room for a bit longer, with his brother who was not dead, who was still alive and laughing and telling some story he thought was hilarious but Stannis had thought only ridiculous.

“Your Grace.” He felt Ned’s hand on his shoulder. He turned around, finally.  


	19. First of His Name

“Usurper!”

“Traitor!”

“Kingslayer!”

“Kinslayer!”

The words rang in Stannis’ ears still, as haunting as the tolling of the bells announcing Robert’s death. He had heard the first two accusations before, during the near-riot in the city when he was inspecting the city’s preparation for a Lannister attack, but the last two had stopped him in his track.

It had not been a surprise. Or rather, it should not have been a surprise. He had anticipated it, in fact, considering the lies and rumors Tywin Lannister and his gold had been spreading in King’s Landing before Robert’s death. The fact that he had not been at King’s Landing when Robert first fell ill had not mattered, just as he had predicted. It was deliberately planned to happen while he was away, the rumors and stories went. Only Lord Stannis had mistimed his return from Dorne, and returned before King Robert was dead.

But the cries of usurper, traitor, kingslayer and kinslayer caused him to ground his teeth nonetheless. Anticipating something, it turned out, had not adequately prepared him for actually hearing the words shouted out loud. Shouted with hate and anger and fury.

There had been no commotion when Robert’s body was brought to the Great Sept of Baelor. The people lining the streets and battlements along the way had watched in silence, for the most part. But it was a different matter altogether after Robert was laid to rest in the crypt beneath the Great Sept, when Stannis and the rest of the lords were making their way back to the Red Keep.

“King Joffrey!” “The rightful king!” That had also been heard from the crowd.

Barristan Selmy had insisted on taking Stannis, Selyse and Shireen back to the Red Keep through an alternate route. Stannis had refused at first. _I am the rightful king. I am no usurper or traitor._ _I do not need to hide from my own people._ But his daughter’s terrified face finally convinced him to follow Ser Barristan’s advice.  

“Why are those people angry with you, Father?” She had asked him later.

The truth was the only thing he could offer her. “They thought I stole the throne from Joffrey.”

“But you didn’t, because Joffrey is not Uncle Robert’s son.”

He nodded.

“Why did they call you kingslayer? And kinslayer?”  

“They thought I was responsible for my brother’s death.”

“But it was a fever, Maester Cressen said so.”

“Yes, but there is going to be a war soon, and people spread lies during war, to make trouble.”

Her face paled at the mention of war. He wondered if he had said too much. But she was not just a child now, she was the daughter of a king, and she could ill-afford to live in ignorance. That was a luxury Shireen had lost when her father ascended to the throne.

 _This is your lot in life now. It will not be easy_ , he thought.

_Forgive me, Shireen._

“It was wrong of them to believe the lies. You would never do anything like that!” Her voice was defiant.

He smiled. “Well, they’re not my daughter. They do not have your faith in me.”

“They should still know,” she insisted.

 _Should they?_ He wondered afterwards, as he was making his way to the godswood to speak to Ned Stark. Would the lies have been believed that easily if they were told about Renly?

 _No, they would not,_ he was convinced of that.

He found Ned kneeling in front of the heart tree in the godswood. Praying. Stannis waited in silence. He studied the heart tree. Just a regular oak tree. Not weirwoods with faces carved on them, the way it would have been at Winterfell. The way it would have been in the north.

_What is it that Ned thinks a tree can do? What is it that people think carvings given names like Father, Mother, Warrior, Maiden, Smith, Crone and Stranger can do?_

“Father above, judge our King Robert justly,” the High Septon had droned on with his prayer for the dead during Robert’s funeral. _Who are you to judge, the gods that do not play by any rule or law, or bounded by order?_ Stannis had thought.

The gods who could strike a man dead from a mere fever, when all precautions had been taken to keep his enemies far from him.

The gods who were monstrous enough to drown a mother and a father while their sons stood watching, petrified into silence, motionless and voiceless.

He did not remember making a sound now, but he must have done so, for Ned was suddenly startled, turning away from the heart tree and looking at him.

“Your Grace,” he said awkwardly. “You should have summoned me to your chamber. I would have come to you.”

 _Your Grace._ It still sounded strange to him. Coming from everyone else too, but especially coming from Ned. He was still getting used to being followed everywhere by the Kingsguard. Barristan Selmy and Boros Blount with him now, standing far enough that they would not hear his conversation with Ned, but close enough that he was aware of their presence, all the time.

“I’m going to see Lord Stark, the man you once claimed is one of the most honorable men you ever knew, Ser Barristan. What do you think he’s going to do, harm me in any way?” Stannis had said to Barristan Selmy.

“Your Grace, it is the Kingsguard’s duty to protect the king and his family. Our sacred duty. Threats can come from anywhere. Not from Lord Stark, perhaps, but other people could be lurking around there. You must let us do our duty,” Ser Barristan had replied.

“What were you praying for?” Stannis asked Ned abruptly.

“For Robert.”

“For him to be at rest?”

Ned shook his head. “No, he hated rest. For love, and laughter, and the joy of battle.”

Stannis had not prayed. Not at the Great Sept, not in the privacy of his own room. Or the privacy of his own mind.

“Do you need me for anything, Your Grace?” Ned was asking him.

“I want you to remain as Hand of the King.”

Ned hesitated, before replying. “I betrayed your brother. He only reinstated me as his Hand to keep the peace in the city. Are you certain I am the kind of man you want as your Hand?”

“Are you questioning my judgment?”

“No, Your Grace, that was not my intention.”

“It’s not like I have a lot of other choices, Ned. The Small Council is full of trained crows and pretenders. I have a mind to dismiss them all. Littlefinger, Varys, even Mace Tyrell. Master of Ships! He knows nothing about naval strategies and naval battles. Paxter Redwyne his bannerman was the true strategist, back during the siege at Storm’s End. But Mace Tyrell claimed the glory and the credit, because he was Paxter Redwyne’s overlord. The same way he tried to claim the glory and the credit for the battle at Ashford, when it was actually Randyll Tarly who led the forces.”

Ned spoke up immediately. “The late King Robert had his reasons for putting Lord Tyrell in the council. It is wiser to put up with him for the duration of the war, at least, Your Grace. You need the Tyrells on your side, that is the truth of the matter.”

“Why should I put up with the man who nearly starved us to death? Why should I elevate him and his House?”

“Because a king must put the need of the realm first. Before his own desire for vengeance,” Ned replied gravely. “And you should remember what Robert said, about Lord Renly. And a Baratheon civil war. It is crucial that you keep the Tyrells on your side.”

Stannis gritted his teeth.

“Your Grace, if I have offended-“

Stannis interrupted Ned’s reply. “This is why I need you as my Hand, to tell me the truth, always.”

“Even when the truth is bitter and unpleasant?” Ned asked.

“ _Especially_ when it is bitter and unpleasant,” Stannis replied.

“You are my king and my liege, Your Grace. I will serve you as long as you have need of my service.”

Stannis announced Ned’s appointment as his Hand of the King during the Small Council meeting the next morning. His first council meeting as king. The first council meeting attended by Mace Tyrell. His family and retinue of knights and men were still at King’s Landing, not yet departed for Highgarden after Robert’s funeral.

Gold. Gold was the crux of the problem. Robert had left a realm deep in debt. Tywin Lannister was calling for immediate payment of the throne’s debt to House Lannister, Littlefinger was telling the council. The Iron Bank of Braavos, another main creditor, was also calling for payment of the throne’s debt.

“The Iron Bank knows there is a war coming. There is … some concern on their part, that should Joffrey Baratheon prove victorious, he might refuse to honor the debt,” Littlefinger said.

“There is no Joffrey Baratheon,” scoffed Lord Tyrell. “Joffrey Lannister, you mean. No, not even a real Lannister. The boy is a bastard born of incest. Joffrey Waters, he should be called.”

Tywin Lannister had not wasted any time announcing Joffrey’s claim to the Iron Throne after Robert’s death. Scores of ravens sent all over the realm, even to King’s Landing. It turned out Cersei, Jaime and the children made their way safely back to Casterly Rock after all.

 _They must have been there all along_ , Stannis thought. All the while Tywin Lannister was spreading his lies about his children and grandchildren being cruelly and unjustly murdered, to drum up support for his rebellion. But now that Robert was dead, he was shedding the cloak of an unjustly victimized father and grandfather, to garb himself in the cloak of fighting to put the rightful king on the throne.

“Your Grace,” Ned’s voice brought Stannis back to the matter at hand.

“Can’t you negotiate with the Iron Bank?” Stannis asked.

“I tried, Your Grace. They seem more adamant this time than they have been in the past. I was usually able to negotiate extensions before. But not this time,” Littlefinger replied.

 “I wish to speak with their representative myself. And to see the terms of our debt to the Iron Bank,” Stannis said. Littlefinger did not seem pleased. Stannis wondered if there had been something not quite right with the terms, something Littlefinger did not want him to know.

“Of course Tywin Lannister’s demand can be ignored. He is rebelling against the throne, he has no right to demand anything from you, Your Grace,” Mace Tyrell piped up again.

 _Don’t try too hard, Lord Tyrell. It will only make me mistrust you even more_ , Stannis thought.

“All debts must be paid,” Stannis snapped. “That is the law. But we will not pay back the Lannisters now, when they would only use the gold to wage war on the throne.”

“What about the Iron Bank of Braavos? What if they still insist on being paid now? There is not enough money in the throne’s coffer to pay them at the moment, Your Grace,” Littlefinger said.

 _And you are as much responsible for that as Robert was_ , Stannis thought.

“We will have to find a way to fill the coffer again. Expenditures must be cut. Certain taxes must be increased,” Stannis replied.

Renly spoke up for the first time. His brother had been quieter than usual this morning. “That’s going to be the first act of your rule as king? Increasing taxes? Think of how it would look. They will not love you any better, the people calling you usurper and traitor.”

_And kingslayer and kinslayer._

“Love will not fill up the throne’s coffer with gold dragons,” Stannis replied through gritted teeth. “And it is not just the question of paying our various debts. To pay for the war, for preparing the city for an attack, those things do not come cheap.”

That was when Mace Tyrell offered to lend the money to the throne. “House Tyrell will do our duty, Your Grace, as much as we are capable.”

Stannis stared at him for a long time, wondering what he wanted in return. Mace Tyrell would not say it himself, but someone else would convey it later, Stannis was certain.

“A very generous offer, Lord Tyrell.” Ned was the one who replied, after the silence had stretched out for a while. He looked at Stannis meaningfully.

“I will consider it,” Stannis finally said.

The discussion turned towards his coronation. And the coronation feast.

“There will be no coronation feast,” Stannis insisted. “Only the coronation. This is not the time for a feast.”

“But what should we do with the people coming to King’s Landing for the coronation? We have to feed them, at least,” Renly said.  

“If they can afford to make the journey to King’s Landing, then they can afford to feed themselves,” Stannis snapped. That had ended the Small Council meeting.

But when he spoke with Ned alone later, Ned was inexplicably on Renly’s side. Stannis could not understand it, Ned had been adamantly opposed when Robert wanted to hold a tourney celebrating his appointment as Hand of the King.

“Your Grace, we have to at least make things seem normal. A normal coronation, for the rightful king. With at least a semblance of all the things that usually happen at a coronation. Otherwise it would only lend fire to all the rumors and lies.”

“We don’t even have the money to pay our debts, we shouldn’t be wasting money on some frivolous feast.”

 “The feast can be planned to be economical, how much is spent can be controlled. Lord Renly was not entirely wrong.”

“I am trying to do what is right for the realm. I cannot worry about being loved,” Stannis was adamant.

“A king need not be loved, but he cannot be hated. Especially if he is going to be at war defending his throne,” Ned replied.

“And I am hated.” It was a statement he directed at Ned, not a question.

“It’s not personal. It’s because of all the rumors and lies spread by Tywin Lannister.”

“If those rumors and lies were being spread about Renly, people would not have believed them so easily,” Stannis groused.

“Now is not the time for self-pity, Your Grace.”

 _Self-pity?_ “Is this how you spoke to Robert?”

“You told me you need someone who can tell you the truth, always, and that’s why you want me as your Hand. I am telling you the truth now.”

There was a long pause while they stared at each other. Stannis was the one who broke the silence. “What do you think Mace Tyrell wants in return for the loan?”

Ned considered the question. “A wedding, possibly. He mentioned it in a roundabout way to me. About how there is no Baratheon heir in the next generation. Lord Renly is your heir, but he is your brother. And you are both without sons of your own. If you and Lord Renly should come to harm during the war, then the realm would be thrown into chaos. Those were his words.”

“If Renly and I were both to perish in the war, then the throne will pass to my daughter. That is the law.” Stannis paused, before continuing. “His daughter wed to Renly, is that the exchange? For the loan. With what, the expectation that I will never sire a son, and Renly will be king after me?”

Ned coughed, and looked away. “I expect so, Your Grace.”

Stannis changed the subject abruptly. “I want Littlefinger out of the council. I don’t trust him. Jon Arryn told me not long before he died how he regretted suggesting Littlefinger as Master of Coin to Robert. Littlefinger had somehow gained undue influence on Robert. Lord Arryn had only appointed him Master of Custom at Gulltown to please his wife, but Littlefinger did really well, increasing the revenue by tenfold. Lord Arryn thought that he could do the same for the realm. But he has only brought the realm to more and more debt.”

“If you remove him as Master of Coin, he will go over to the Lannister, Your Grace.”

“Who’s to say he’s not already working for them right now?”

“He’s shrewd, not if he’s thinking that you’re winning. Men like Baelish would always pitch his tent for the winning side,” Ned replied.

“Are we? Winning? Doesn’t feel like it. Anyway, I want him gone.”

“Who will you appoint in his place?”

“I have a few candidates in mind.” Stannis paused. “Robert said I would hate it, being king.”

“You are not your brother, Your Grace.” Ned continued, after a beat. “Stannis.”

Stannis pondered the statement. “And is that a good thing, or a bad thing, in your mind?”

“It is what it is, Your Grace. Only that you are very different men, you and Robert.”

Stannis marveled at the extent that he and Renly were very different men too, when he spoke to Renly later about Mace Tyrell and his plan.

“Do you want to wed Margaery Tyrell?” Stannis asked.

“You told me once it is my duty to wed a woman, and sire an heir,” Renly replied.  

“But Margaery Tyrell?”

“Why not, because she’s a Tyrell?”

“Yes. And because she is Loras Tyrell’s sister.”

“It wasn’t Loras who kept us starving during the siege, it was his father,” Renly was deliberately misunderstanding his words, Stannis knew. “Should I not wed, then?”

“You do not have to wed Margaery Tyrell. It can be any woman, any woman at all.”

“Are you forbidding the match, as king?”

Robert had arranged his marriage to Selyse, to appease the Florents after he pardoned the Tyrells for staying loyal to the Mad King. Stannis had obeyed, it was his duty to his older brother. His duty to his king. He doubted if Renly’s sense of duty was that strong.

“We will speak of it later. I have to prepare for court.”

His first time holding court. The crown had never felt heavier on his head, as he was making his way to the Iron Throne. The royal steward’s voice rang out. “All hail His Grace, Stannis of the House Baratheon, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.”

Protector of the Realm. His realm now. His people now.

_I am not a traitor, nor a usurper. I am the rightful king. And I have a duty to my people._


	20. Vows

“And I hereby command that Cersei Lannister and her brother Ser Jaime Lannister the Kingslayer present themselves to court to answer for their crimes. And I summon Tywin Lannister and the boy Joffrey to court to declare their fealty to the rightful king.”

“So the king has decreed, and the small council consents,” the Grand Maester’s voice rang after Stannis’ own.

Treason, incest and adultery, those were the only crimes they had enough evidence to put Cersei and Jaime Lannister on trial for at the moment, Stannis reflected as he made his way out of the throne room. What about the death of Jon Arryn? And the two attempts on the life of Ned Stark’s son? There was not enough evidence yet to put that on the Lannisters.

_And which Lannister in particular? What role did the Imp really play?_

Stannis was certain that they were responsible for those crimes as well, but certainty was no substitute for actual proof, he knew. Not in the eyes of the law. Or justice.

But he also knew that it mattered very little to the Lannisters, knew that Cersei and Jaime would not come back willingly to King’s Landing to stand trial, and Tywin and Joffrey would not come to declare their loyalty to him. The Lannisters had declared war, and the only way they were coming to King’s Landing was to snatch the throne for Joffrey.

He had known that Cersei, Jaime and the children were still alive, and had made their way back to Casterly Rock. Lancel Lannister had told him that. The boy had lasted longer than Stannis had expected under interrogation, only spilling out the truth when the ship carrying them from Dorne had almost reached King’s Landing. Stannis had planned for Robert to reveal the truth and issued the command for Cersei’s and Jaime’s arrest as soon as he arrived at King’s Landing. But with Robert’s illness, and death …

_I should have done that myself, the moment I became king._

He was cursing himself now, for the missed opportunity. Why had he allowed himself to be distracted?

When his Hand came to see him in his study later that day, he lamented his own lapse in judgment. “I should have made that pronouncement earlier, before Tywin Lannister made his move.”

“So many things were happening, Your Grace. And who could have predicted that Lord Tywin would have made his move so quickly? He had been content to wait before. And of course with your brother’s death -”

“That is not an excuse!”

“Why not, Your Grace? Are you not allowed to grieve, for your own brother?” Ned asked.

Grief. Had he truly grieved, for Robert? Renly had shed tears. Even Ned had, when he thought no one was watching. But Stannis had not. He had spent the time he stood vigil over Robert’s body in the sept arguing with his brother in his head. _You should have done this. You should not have done that. If only you had listened to me when I told you …_

_Maybe you wouldn’t be leaving a realm so deep in debt._

_Maybe you would still be alive._

There had been no answer. Even in his head, Robert had not answered back.

“The letter announcing Joffrey’s claim to the throne was written by Lord Tywin, I notice, and not Joffrey himself,” Ned said, mercifully interrupting Stannis’ thoughts of his dead brother.

“Written by a maester’s hand, but coming from Tywin Lannister, yes. Joffrey of the House Baratheon, he said in his letter,” Stannis scoffed. “Cersei had always insisted on the boy being called ‘Joffrey of the House Baratheon and House Lannister’ before. Even his clothes bore the sigil of both Houses. And yet now Tywin Lannister has the gall to call for the Storm Lords to support Joffrey’s claim to the throne. As a Baratheon. When he is no Baratheon at all.”

“Nevertheless, the letter was from Lord Tywin, not Joffrey himself,” Ned repeated.                                

“Well, what of it? It’s Tywin Lannister who will be fighting the war, not that boy Joffrey. I doubt he has the stomach for it. Not for actual war and actual fighting.”

“I believe this is a miscalculation on Lord Tywin’s part, Your Grace. The letter should have been from Joffrey himself, announcing his own claim to the throne. Otherwise, the war might start to look more like a rebellion by House Lannister, instead of a fight to put the rightful king on the throne. That is something we can use to our advantage.”

“It _is_ a rebellion by House Lannister. Joffrey is not Robert’s son and heir, he is the product of Lannister incest.”

“But Cersei and Jaime Lannister have not been found guilty in a trial yet. Strictly speaking, Joffrey’s paternity is still a disputed issue,” Ned replied.

“Disputed?” Stannis was incredulous. “Was I only imagining it, or did we not work together to gather the proof for their crimes? Did your stay in the dungeon erase your memory of that, my lord Hand?”

“Forgive me, Your Grace. I am only speaking of how it might appear to other people.”

“How it might _appear?_ Have you been speaking to Varys? Is this his counsel you’re repeating?”

Ned did not flinch. “No, Your Grace. It is my wife’s.”

“Your wife?” Stannis was taken aback.

“She believes we cannot sit still and let Lord Tywin’s lies go unchallenged.”

“I made _you_ my Hand, Ned, not your lady wife.”

“But do you disagree with her assessment of the situation?”

She had a point, about Joffrey’s paternity still being a disputed issue in the eyes of some, with Cersei and Jaime not yet found guilty for the incest and adultery, Stannis grudgingly admitted.

“And how exactly do we counter these lies?” Stannis asked.

“Point out that Lord Tywin has lied before. When he was spreading the words that Robert had murdered his children and grandchildren. But now that Robert is dead, suddenly they’re still alive, and he’s claiming the throne in Joffrey’s name. We must also put out the proof that Robert’s death was due to natural causes, that there was no poison or treachery involved.”

“On the words of the new Grand Maester and Maester Cressen? The Grand Maester appointed after I convinced Robert to send Pycelle back to Oldtown. And the maester who has been serving me since I first became Lord of Dragonstone, and had been the maester at Storm’s End long before I was born. They are lying for me, people would say. How many would believe it? You heard the cries on the streets, on the day of Robert’s funeral. Kinslayer, they called me. And kingslayer.”

They would say that Cressen was his man the way Pycelle was Tywin Lannister’s man.  

“Whether people will believe it or not, we do not know. But we must still try. We cannot let Lord Tywin’s lies go unchallenged.”

“Well, do what you must. They have never loved me before, I doubt they will love me now.”

“Your Grace –“

“I know. A king need not be loved, but he cannot be hated. I am not deaf to your counsel, Ned. Now, what news of the Ironborn?”

“Euron and Victarion Greyjoy are on their way back to the Iron Islands. With their fleet of ships.”

“This according to Varys’ spies?”

“Yes. But I have also confirmed it through my own people in the north.”

“Balon Greyjoy means to fight for the Lannisters.”

“I believe so.”

“Tywin Lannister must have promised him to rule as king in the Iron Islands.”

“And he has no love for you, Your Grace. His rebellion failed largely because you destroyed his brother’s fleet, allowing us to make our way to Pyke to defeat his forces.”

“You have his son,” Stannis said, after a pause.

“I sent him a letter reminding him of that.”

“And his reply?”

“That he has no son. That his sons were all cruelly taken from him. The boy I have in my keeping is no longer an Ironborn. I may do what I wish with him.”

“The boy is still his heir, is he not?” Stannis asked.

“Theon. His name is Theon. And he is a young man now.”

_Have you grown fond of your hostage, Ned?_

“Theon Greyjoy is still Balon Greyjoy’s heir. Is that not in his consideration?”

“He has a daughter. The Lady Asha. It seems he has been training her as his heir, treating her as one too. She is the older sister.”

“But the Iron Islands is not Dorne. It does not matter that this … Asha Greyjoy … is the elder child.”

“I suppose he considered his son as lost to him, from the moment he became my ward.”

“Your hostage,” Stannis reminded Ned. “The thing about hostages, they are only useful as long as they are still valued by the people they were taken from. Well, we will just have to crush the Ironborn, the way we did during the Greyjoy Rebellion. But guard Theon Greyjoy carefully at Winterfell, make sure he does not escape.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Is that the plan, do you think? Land attack by the Lannister forces, and by sea from the Greyjoy fleets?”

“Sellswords too,” Ned replied. “According to Varys’ spies in the Free Cities, Lord Tywin is spending his gold freely hiring sellsword companies. A very large number of men. Possibly more than the number of his own bannermen.”

“No wonder he wants the throne to pay its debt to his House. He needs the gold. The question is, sellswords for the land attack, or sea?”

They spent the rest of the afternoon discussing the defense of the city on both fronts.

After Ned left, he started poring over the details of the terms of the loan from the Iron Bank of Braavos. Littlefinger’s record keeping was meticulous, he had to admit. Everything was recorded, from the smallest detail of the negotiations to the final terms agreed to.

_Or perhaps too meticulous_ , Stannis thought after a while. Burying you with so much detail to hide the trees in the forest. To hide the evidence of any wrongdoing. It did not help that Littlefinger’s writing was so small Stannis had to squint his eyes to read them. He walked to the window to clear his vision, and spotted Shireen and Arya playing in the courtyard.

He could hear their voices through the open window, and realized what it was they were playing after a while. Arya taking her oath as a Kingsguard. Arya was kneeling, saying the vows of the Kingsguard, while Shireen held a wooden stick on Arya’s shoulder.  

Then they called for Devan, who had been watching them quietly from the side. “Come on, Devan, it’s your turn now!” Arya called out. Devan turned out to be playing the part of the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. He raised Arya up to her feet, putting a white blanket fashioned as a white cloak on her shoulders.

“You are now a Sworn Brother of the Kingsguard,” Devan said solemnly.

“No,” Shireen said, “Sworn Sister.”

“Yes, my queen,” he replied gravely.

 Shireen blushed. “We’re not in the game now. I’m not the queen.”

 “And it’s the Queensguard, not the Kingsguard,” Arya interrupted. “We have to do it again, to get it right.” She kneeled down again. Devan raised her to her feet, getting the words right to both girls’ satisfaction this time. “You are now a Sworn Sister of the Queensguard.”

White knights on white horses with white cloaks. He wondered if it was the romance of that which appealed to Arya Stark. Did she truly understand what it meant to be a member of the Kingsguard?

He should be getting back to Littlefinger’s records. But he was curious to see how the game would end.

Arya started following Shireen, pretending to fight bad guys along the way. “You will not lay hands on the queen. You will have to kill me first!” She shouted. The blanket they had fashioned as her white cloak was too big for her, trailing behind her legs, she almost tripped a few times. Devan ended up holding it up as she ran around following Shireen. It was Devan who finally spotted Stannis watching them, and he whispered something to the girls. They stopped playing immediately, in fact stopped moving altogether. Stannis motioned for them to come closer to the window.

“Your Grace,” said Arya and Devan.

“Father,” said Shireen. Devan started apologizing, making a motion to leave. Stannis told him to stay. 

“Surely it is better for the Kingsguard to detect and deal with any threat _before_ it is so close to the king and queen,” Stannis said.

“It is only a game, Your Grace,” Arya replied.

“You and Shireen were meticulous about getting it right when you were taking your vows. And yet you’re not worried about getting it right when you are actually doing your duty?” Stannis asked.

Arya blushed. “I will do better next time, Your Grace.”

Shireen tried to explain, later, after Arya and Devan had left. “We were just playing, Father. Don’t be angry.”

Had he looked angry, when he spoke to them? “I know. I’m not angry. Why do you think I would be angry?”

“Because it’s not true, what we were playing. I know I will not be queen.”

He wondered how much she knew and understood.

“Uncle Renly is your heir. At least he is until I have a little brother.” Her face bloomed when she said ‘little brother.’ “My little brother will be king one day.”

“Yes, that is the law.”

“But why is it …” she paused, watching him carefully.

“Go on.”

“Why is the law not the same for the throne, and for everyone else?”

He knew what she meant. If Shireen was destined to have no little brother, she would inherit Dragonstone from him. But she would still not inherit the throne, not over her father’s brother. Not over her Uncle Renly.

“The law for inheriting the Iron Throne was changed after a Targaryen civil war. Dance of the Dragons, it was called. Have you learned that in your lessons with Maester Cressen?”

She shook her head. “But I have heard of it.”

“From whom?”

“I read about it myself.”

_She probably had plenty of time to read, lonely and friendless as her life was at Dragonstone._

Her eyes went wide. “Is it true that Princess Rhaenyra was fed to her own dragon?”

“That was what was recorded, yes.”

“But why, if her father wanted her to be the queen?”

Why indeed? And the law that would have prevented her from inheriting the throne from her father, that put all male relatives, even uncles, not just brothers, above her in the line of succession for the throne, had not been written yet at the time. It was only codified after the end of that war, after her defeat and death.

 “There was a war, between her and her brother. Things … are said and spread during war, sometimes untrue things.”

Shireen nodded. “Like people lying about you hurting Uncle Robert. So it’s a lie that her father wanted her to be queen?”

“No, that was not a lie.”

Shireen looked confused. “Then why ...”

“Go on. Why what?”

She smiled. “I have forgotten some parts of the story, Father. I will read it again. I will ask you my question then.”

Stannis nodded. But he wondered if Maester Cressen would think the subject a suitable one for a nine-year-old child.

“Devan wants to be a Kingsguard too,” Shireen whispered suddenly. “To protect you.”

“He’s still too young to think of that. To know what he really wants to do with his life. A Kingsguard serves for life, do you know that?”

“Yes, Devan told me that. He knows all about them, he’s read a lot about them.”

Jaime Lannister had been only fifteen when he took his vows and became a Sworn Brother of the Kingsguard. Stannis wondered if he had ever regretted it later. The real Kingslayer.

“I killed the Mad King, and your precious brother didn’t have to soil his own hands. He should be grateful to me,” he had said to Stannis once.

“My precious brother? His Grace King Robert, you mean? The king you are sworn to protect now,” had been Stannis’ only reply.

Ned’s words would not leave him alone. “A king need not be loved, but he cannot be hated.” The Mad King was hated. Justifiably so, for his cruelty.

_What have I ever done, to justify their hatred?_

He was still contemplating that question when his wife walked into the room. He had not seen her at all since the morning meal that day. She had her own duties and obligations to perform as queen.

They spoke of Shireen for a while, before Selyse started asking him about the small council meeting.

“The realm is deep in debt, but that is not a surprise. And Mace Tyrell wants to wed his daughter to Renly.”

Selyse did not look surprised. “Of course. Now that Robert is dead, and that match could not come off.”

Stannis, on the other hand, was surprised with her reply. He did not know that Selyse had known about Mace Tyrell’s previous plan to wed his daughter to Robert.

“The ladies at court were talking about nothing else. In fact, according to some, he was planning that before Cersei’s crimes were even discovered. No doubt he had some plans of his own to get Robert to set Cersei aside, even before he knew about the incest and adultery.” She laughed, a hard, bitter laugh. “In fact, I am surprised he’s setting his sight directly on Renly now.”

“What do you mean?”

“Robert was king, Margaery Tyrell would have been queen. Renly is only the heir to the throne, and only until a son is born to you. I would have thought he would have aimed for the man sitting on the throne himself.”

_The man sitting on the throne._ “I am already wed. As you well know, as my lady wife.”

“Your brother was still wed to Cersei Lannister when Lord Tyrell first conceived of his plan. That did not stop him. Who is to say some crimes could not be placed on my head too, to convince my lord husband to set me aside? To take another woman as his wife? To be his new queen.”

Stannis exploded. “The crimes Cersei Lannister are being accused of are not made-up! You have seen the evidence yourself.”

“I am not speaking about the evidence _you_ gathered. But Lord Tyrell must have had some plan of his own, if he was planning to push his daughter to Robert before he knew about Cersei’s actual crimes. It must really grate on his pride now, a Florent as queen. And the pride of his House. A barren Florent, though, that is the word being spread. One unable to give the king a son and heir, only a daughter. A sickly daughter at that. Perhaps that is reason enough to set her aside.”

He had not heard these tales. “Who has been saying that?”

“Oh, they are not saying it, merely whispering it. The ladies at court. Their lord husbands, too. No doubt even the smallfolks in the streets.”

There was a different world she had to negotiate, as queen, with all the wives of the lords and the ladies at court. He had very little knowledge of that world, had not paid the slightest bit of attention to it in all the years he had been at King’s Landing. His wife, who had spent most of their married life on a secluded island, on a piece of barren rock not that far away from King’s Landing in actual distance, but might as well be as far away as the Wall in terms of the way things were done. He wondered if she was finding the transition and all the changes as jarring and strange as he was too.

And yet … her lack of faith in him was maddening.

“If you think that I would set aside my marriage vows for some made-up charges, then you do not know me at all.”

“Not even for a son?”

He did not bother answering that question.

Barristan Selmy had insisted on a taster for Stannis’ food and drink. “I will not lose another king under my watch, Your Grace,” Ser Barristan had said. Perhaps it was time to employ a taster for his wife too. And his daughter. He doubted that he was an attractive marriage prospect as a man. But as a king, it was another matter altogether. The prospect of a daughter as queen and a grandson as the future king must be tempting for many ambitious lords, not just Mace Tyrell.

He thought of their wedding after his wife left the room. Not their wedding night, but the ceremony itself.  Selyse’s father had been dead for years, it was her uncle, Alester Florent, who had removed her fox-embroidered maiden cloak. Lord Alester’s hands had fumbled trying to undo the clasp. It had taken him a very long time to remove Selyse’s maiden cloak, all the while the guests were whispering and tittering. When Alester Florent finally succeeded, Stannis had put his own cloak on Selyse’s shoulders in one quick motion, eager to get things over and done with.

“Perhaps he is regretting the match,” Stannis heard the whispers and snickers later during the wedding feast. “Lord Florent thought he was marrying off his niece to the Lord of Storm’s End.”

 “He should have waited for the other brother, the brother the king favors.”

“Renly Baratheon is only a boy. Selyse Florent is not getting any younger.”

“Or any prettier.” The snickers had grown louder.

“Well, it is a good match then, with Lord Stannis. Lord Renly will grow to be a good-looking man like the king, you can see that even now.”

He and Selyse had been made figures of ridicule even before Robert decided to bed Delena Florent on their wedding bed.

“Here in the sight of gods and men,” the septon had said, “I do solemnly proclaim Stannis of House Baratheon and Selyse of House Florent to be man and wife, one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever, and cursed be the one who comes between them.”

He had always taken his marriage vows seriously.

_Now and forever._

But part of it had always confounded him.

_One flesh, one heart, one soul._

It was absurd, he thought. How could two people ever become one? Why would they want to?

_We are who we are._

_And I am also a father with a duty to his daughter_ , he reminded himself, and went to look for Maester Cressen in his room. The old man was writing a letter. They spoke of Shireen’s lessons, and the things Stannis wanted Shireen to be taught. She would not be queen, but she was still the daughter of a king.

“How long do you wish me to stay at King’s Landing, Your Grace?”

“For now. I will ask the Citadel to send another maester to Dragonstone.”

Maester Cressen’s face fell. “Perhaps it is time for a new maester to serve Dragonstone. I know I am old, and growing infirm.”

What was it with everyone thinking he wanted to set them aside? First Selyse, now Cressen.

_I want you here because I need your counsel, old man._

“You followed me to Dragonstone when I became its lord, poor and desolate place that it was. Will you not follow me to King’s Landing now that I am king?”

“Of course, Your Grace. I will follow you anywhere.”

“I cannot appoint you as the Grand Maester. The Citadel has its own rules and laws in these matters, and I do not wish to meddle in that.”

_But I doubt position matters to you, or you would have stayed at Storm’s End and not followed me to Dragonstone._ In truth, he was still perplexed as to why Cressen had done that. He had never asked, and Cressen had never offered an explanation, except to say that a maester must serve his lord no matter where he went. But a maester was supposed to serve a castle, and for Cressen that was Storm’s End. He should have stayed there when Renly was made its lord.

Cressen smiled. “I have no wish for the stress of that position, Your Grace. The new Grand Maester told me he has lost almost a stone since his appointment.”

“The man could afford to lose that, and more,” Stannis said bluntly. “But he is more useful than Pycelle was. At least he’s not in the habit of falling asleep during council meetings. And I do not have to worry that he is reporting the things we discussed to Tywin Lannister.”

“That relationship went back a long time, since Lord Tywin was Hand of the King. When he was but a young man,” Maester Cressen observed.

“Pycelle was the Grand Maester, he should have been loyal to the king he served. No matter how long he has known Lord Tywin.”

“Of course, Your Grace. But a maester … well, a maester is still human.”

“Meaning?”

“Even with the vows we took, it is not always possible to erase all traces of personal … sentiments, let’s put it that way.”

It struck Stannis suddenly that perhaps Cressen was not only talking about Pycelle and Tywin Lannister. But the old man had already turned his face down, pretending to read the letter he had been writing, possibly already regretting what he had said. Stannis did not think it his place to pry further. He left Maester Cressen to his letters, and his regrets.  


	21. Doubt

 

“My little birds informed me that the rumor you have heard is true, Your Grace. Viserys Targaryen is indeed dead.”

Stannis studied the man Ser Barristan had once called the source of the rot during the Mad King’s reign. Stannis meant to get rid of him from the Small Council too, but he needed him for one last task – to confirm Doran Martell’s claim about the death of Viserys Targaryen.

“How did he die?”

 Varys made a show of hesitating. “May I ask how Your Grace heard of it in the first place?”

“No,” Stannis replied curtly. “How did he die?”

“Killed with a crown of gold, with not a drop of his blood spilled.” Varys seemed to be taking pleasure in his enigmatic answer. Stannis had no patience for his games.

“Riddles and puzzles are not what I need from my Master of Whisperers, Lord Varys. I need answers, news, facts. Perhaps you should be more mindful of your duty.”

 “Oh, but I am, Your Grace,” Varys replied with wide-eyed innocence. “That is indeed how Viserys Targaryen died. He threatened the lives of his sister and her unborn child, and her husband the horselord poured molten gold on his head. They were in the Dothraki city of Vaes Dothrak, where it is forbidden to shed a man’s blood. I suppose he chose a more … interesting method.”

“Did he not sell his sister to this Dothraki horselord to gain an army? Why would he threaten her life, and the life of her child?”

Varys smiled. “Apparently the Dothraki horselord has been less than forthcoming about fulfilling the … terms of the sale, shall we say? The Dothrakis are afraid of water, and crossing the ocean to fight for a throne on the other side of the world … well …”

And no wonder, Stannis thought. Crossing an ocean and fighting a war to put a brother-in-law on the throne must have seemed like a less enticing prospect to this horselord than doing so to put his wife on the throne, and himself ruling next to her. As long as Viserys Targaryen was alive, he would have a stronger claim to the throne than his sister, in the eyes of the remaining Targaryen loyalists.

Not that any Targaryen had any claim to the throne now, Stannis scoffed. Doran Martell would have supported Viserys Targaryen’s war for the throne, for the price of his daughter as Viserys’ queen, but would he extend the same support to Daenerys Targaryen and her Dothraki husband?

“I do not think that the Targaryen threat is something we need to worry about, Your Grace. I doubt Daenerys Targaryen’s husband has any interest in fighting a war in the Seven Kingdoms. And without his army, she has nothing.”

In ordinary times, perhaps not. But this was no ordinary time, Stannis knew. With the kingdom at war, the time was ripe for outsiders to take advantage of the situation.

They had thought that Viserys Targaryen had nothing too. The Beggar King, people had called him. But Doran Martell had all but confirmed to Stannis that Viserys would have had Dorne’s support.

“Not something we need to worry about? And yet you were the one who informed my late brother about Daenerys Targaryen being with child. You did not think it was something we need not worry about at the time. What has changed, Varys? My brother was king then, and I am king now?”

“I am merely a purveyor of information, Your Grace. It is my duty to inform the king of anything that might threaten the realm.”

“And you do not think the Targaryen is a threat now?

“No, I do not, Your Grace. And there is a more disturbing piece of news that could prove to be a greater threat.”

“And what is that?”

“I am reliably informed that Lord Baelish has been spotted at the Eyrie.”

“The Eyrie?” Stannis could not keep the surprise out of his voice. “What is he doing there?”

Petyr Baelish had vanished from King’s Landing before Stannis had announced his removal from the Small Council. Stannis suspected that Baelish had known of his intention, but how that could be the case was still a mystery to him. He had not conveyed his intention to anyone but Ned Stark.

“Wooing and marrying Lady Arryn, according to my little birds,” replied Varys. “And delivering the Vale to Lord Tywin’s side.” He paused. “If I may speak with complete candor, Your Grace?”

_When have you ever done so?_

“Why, have you not been truthful so far?”

“It is quite a delicate matter, and I do not wish to offend Your Grace. But I do believe it was a grave mistake, removing Lord Baelish from the Small Council. As long as he has a position, you could be sure of his support. Lord Baelish has no care for wars and kings, except for how it might benefit him personally. But now -”

“I have no need for his support! And Baelish vanished suddenly from King’s Landing, without asking my leave. Without asking his king’s leave. That is not the kind of man I need in my council.”

“I was under the impression that Your Grace had informed Lord Baelish that he would be replaced as Master of Coin, and that is the reason for him leaving King’s Landing.”

_Now how did you know I was planning to do that? And were you the one who informed Littlefinger?_

“As you well know, the announcement was made only after Baelish had abandoned his duty and his office.”

“Forgive me, Your Grace, I was mistaken. But perhaps Lord Baelish saw the writing on the wall? After Your Grace demanded to see all the records from the treasury, going back to when he was first made Master of Coin. And of course the two of you … did not always see eye to eye when Your Grace was in the council yourself.”

_Neither did we, Varys. Only you were always better at hiding your contempt than Litttlefinger._

Stannis had never bothered hiding his contempt for both men.

_Robert was surrounded by fools and pretenders. I’d not make the same mistake. Varys must go too._

The news of the marriage between Lysa Arryn and Littlefinger sounded incredible to Stannis. But not as unbelievable as the news that Littlefinger could deliver the Vale to Tywin Lannister’s side. Lysa Arryn would never support the people she believed murdered her husband. Not even for the sake of her new husband. Stannis wondered if Varys knew about it too, the letter Lysa Arryn had smuggled to her sister accusing the Lannisters of poisoning Jon Arryn. There seemed to be very little the man did not know.

Or pretended to know, at any rate.

“The Tullys and the Starks are on the throne’s side. She will not fight against her father and her sister,” Stannis was adamant.

“Lady Arryn has no love lost for her father, Your Grace. For preventing her from marrying the man she has always loved, and making a match with a much older man instead,” Varys replied serenely.

“The man she has always loved?”

“Why, Lord Baelish, of course. He was a ward of Lord Tully, he grew up with Lady Arryn and Lady Stark and their brother. So you see, Your Grace, you cannot count on Lady’s Arryn’s support, and the Vale’s. Best case scenario, they will stay neutral. Worst, they will fight for the Lannisters.”

“I am still king, I will remind her of her duty to be loyal to the rightful king.”

“The Eyrie is impenetrable, your threats will not scare her. If you had kept Lord Baelish by your side, perhaps you could have ensured Lady Arryn’s support for the throne, Your Grace.”

Was this a not-so-veiled threat? To keep Varys himself in the council.

“Of course,” Varys continued, “it is a pity that the late Lord Arryn’s intention, for his son to be fostered at Dragonstone, was not fulfilled before his death. If you have Robert Arryn in your hands now …” Varys ended with an exaggerated flourish of his hands.

Of course Varys would have known about that too. Nothing surprised Stannis anymore, when it came to the spider.

Stannis recalled his conversation with Jon Arryn about the matter. Lord Arryn had been concerned for his son’s safety, and wanted the boy to be far from King’s Landing.

“With what we are trying to uncover, our lives could be in danger. And our families. The queen will not stand still and do nothing,” Jon Arryn had said.

“Why not send the boy and Lady Arryn back to the Eyrie? It is further away from King’s Landing than Dragonstone,” Stannis had asked.

Jon Arryn had looked uncomfortable. “I suppose it is presumptuous of me, to assume that you will agree to foster my son. He is … not very strong, and can be quite difficult at times.”

_No, not at all. It is an honor that you have chosen me to foster your son_ , Stannis knew he was supposed to say.

“Dragonstone is a very lonely place for a child,” he said bluntly instead. “He will have no friend or companion except my daughter. And Shireen is a very shy child. I thought you should know the truth of it, before you make the final decision.”

“Perhaps they can make things less lonely for each other, your daughter and my son. And a period of separation from his mother might do him some good. The boy is … too close to his mother. I blame myself, to be honest. I was too busy with my duties as Hand, trying to reign in Robert, I left most of little Robert’s care to my wife. Lysa has had many miscarriages and stillbirths. I thought it is only natural that she would be very attached to our only surviving child. But she has grown too attached to little Robert, and it is not healthy for both of them.”

The sudden storm of personal revelations from Jon Arryn was making Stannis uncomfortable. He did not know how to respond. Was Jon Arryn expecting reassurances? Comforting words? Absolution?

“Will Lady Arryn agree to it?”

“She will have to,” Jon Arryn had replied resolutely.

But Jon Arryn had died before the plan could be put into motion, and Lysa Arryn had fled King’s Landing with her son for the safety of the Eyrie. If she truly suspected the Lannisters of murdering her husband, would she side with them now? Or was her letter to her sister merely the ramblings of a grieving woman?

Or perhaps, Stannis wondered why this had not occurred to him before, she had seen her husband’s death as a release. From the threat of being separated from her son.

He would have to ask Ned the exact wording of her letter to Catelyn Stark.

Varys’ voice interrupted Stannis recollection of the past. “Lord Tyrell seems to be quite put out that Your Grace has snubbed his offer for the loan.”

“I have not decided.” They had gone with the cost-cutting measures first. And increasing the tax on certain establishments – brothels, whorehouses, alehouses. He wanted nothing more than to shut all those places down, but the reality of the situation meant he would have to wait.

“And you have not decided on the wedding as well?” Varys continued.

Stannis knew which wedding Varys was referring too. “I suppose you think I should consent to it right away? To keep the Tyrells on my side?”

Varys shook his head vigorously. “On the contrary, my lord. Under no circumstances should you allow Margaery Tyrell to wed Lord Renly. It would a very dangerous alliance. Very dangerous indeed.”

“Very dangerous? For whom?”

Varys was looking at Stannis as if he could not believe that Stannis did not know the answer to the question already. “Why, for you, Your Grace. Lord Tyrell is very ambitious, why would he be content with his daughter marrying a king’s brother, instead of a king?”

“Because the king is already married,” Stannis replied.

“But how long would he be content? And how long would the king’s brother be content to wait his turn? If indeed his turn will come at all? I know the general consensus among the chattering class seems to be that the king and queen are not in good terms, and a son and heir might be a … distant possibility, shall we say. But I also know that the king is very diligent about doing his duty. If he considers it his duty to provide an heir for the throne, I am certain he will do whatever is necessary to achieve that. What of Lord Tyrell and his dream of his daughter as queen and his grandson as king then? Might he not be tempted to be a kingmaker himself, putting the might of his House behind her daughter’s husband, behind the king’s brother? Or perhaps he might choose a more … subtle method. If the king were to die suddenly, before a son is born to him, Lord Renly will be king, and Margaery Tyrell will be queen.”

“You’re trying to drive me mad with doubts and suspicions, like Aerys,” Stannis scoffed. “Seeing enemies everywhere, from His Hand to his own son, all because of the poisonous words you whispered in his ears.”

“Lord Tywin did betray him in the end, did he not? And it was Lord Tywin’s own son who killed Aerys. Like I said before, Your Grace, I am merely a purveyor of information. You have other ways of confirming the information I provided you, I am sure. You are a suspicious man by nature, you would not believe merely in any one person, or rely on any one person.”

“Do not try to flatter me, Varys. I am not my brothers.”

“No, Your Grace, you are not. Which is why you must see the truth of what I just said, regarding Lord Tyrell, and Lord Renly.”

He refused to hear more, and dismissed Varys from his study. And promptly summoned Renly, telling him the gist of Varys’ warning. Renly’s expression was indecipherable. Stannis had expected him to laugh it off, to say what a ridiculous notion it was.

“If I am trying to wage a war for the throne, would I have stayed at King’s Landing? Where you could have me arrested at any time? I would have been gone as soon as Robert was dead, calling my banners,” Renly replied instead.

_Was this something you had considered?_ He was not certain he wanted to know the answer to that question.

“And Mace Tyrell is content to wait until you are king for his daughter to be queen?” He asked instead.

“That’s something you will have to ask him.”

 “Selyse might still give me a son.”

“Then he will be your heir,” Renly replied, but his expression showed that prospect was not something he was truly concerned about.

“Do you think Mace Tyrell would be content with that? His daughter married merely to the uncle of a king, instead of a king?”

“Is Varys making you paranoid, like he did with Aerys? What do you think Mace Tyrell will do? Poison you so I can be king? Poison your son so I can be king?” Renly’s expression stiffened. “Or do you think it is me that will be doing that?”

“No, of course not. But Mace Tyrell, that’s another story.”

“You need the Tyrells on your side. You need their gold for the throne not to go bankrupt, you need his men to fight the war, and most of all, you need them not to side with the Lannisters. Lord Tywin has offered Joffrey for Margaery.”

This changed everything. “Did Mace Tyrell tell you that?”

“No, it was Loras. His father did not want it known by us, but Loras is worried for Margaery, if she is married to Joffrey. Let’s just say he has heard countless stories about the boy and his … peculiarities.”

“From you?”

 “From me, and other people.”

“And he would rather that _you_ marry his sister?”

“For her sake, as well as mine. And ours.”

“Ours?” _Does Renly mean he and Loras?_ Stannis wondered.

“The Baratheons.”

“If she marries you expecting something, expecting you to be king, expecting herself to be queen, if it doesn’t happen …”

“Margaery is not Selyse.”

“My wife never expected me to be king.”

“She married you expecting to be the lady of Storm’s End, not Dragonstone. I can handle Margaery, and her … expectations.”

_Can you?_ But Stannis had decided.  

“Fine, I will discuss the terms with Mace Tyrell himself.”

“The terms?”

“He’s getting what he wants, the throne must get what it wants too.”

Renly seemed shocked for a minute, but then he laughed. “You’re just like Robert, using your brother’s marriage for your own benefit.”

“But you want to marry Margaery Tyrell,” Stannis pointed out. He wondered why Renly was so adamant on the Tyrell alliance.

Renly shrugged. “I guess that’s the difference, you didn’t want to marry Selyse. Or anyone, really.”

“You don’t know anything about my marriage,” Stannis snapped.

Renly did not reply. He changed the subject and started asking about their parents, suddenly. “Were they happy? Did they love each other?”

Stannis pondered the question. “They … grew to love each other. Father married Mother after only seeing her twice, she was the daughter of one of his bannermen. Mother’s grandmother tried to warn her off the match, saying Father is half-Targaryen, and the Targaryens are all mad.”

Renly smiled. “Loras said his grandmother was supposed to marry a Targaryen, but she did everything she could to get out of it. Did Mother try to get out of it too?”

“No,” a ghost of a smile passed Stannis’ lips. “She said she liked the look of him, from the first time she saw him.”

“Do you ever wonder? How things would have been different, if they had lived?” Renly asked.

Stannis sighed. “It’s pointless to wonder about that.”

“Maester Cressen used to tell me stories about them, when I was a boy. You would never talk about them, and Robert was barely around.”

“You were too young to understand.”

“Too young to understand what? Grief? Loss? Never knowing my own mother and father?”

_Anger. Hatred. Bitterness._

“What it is to lose faith in everything.”

 


	22. Weddings and Beddings

They made for a regal-looking couple, even Stannis had to grudgingly admit. Renly and Margaery. Renly with his jet black hair and deep blue eyes, looking so much like Robert had looked on his wedding day, Stannis almost had to clear his vision to check that the bride was not wearing Lannister crimson and gold. But no, this bride was brown-haired and brown-eyed, not golden-haired and green-eyed, and clad in Tyrell green and gold. Her velvet green maiden cloak was embroidered with countless tiny golden roses, each looking no bigger than her thumb. 

_All that time and effort to make something so frivolous_ , Stannis scoffed. _And ultimately pointless._ For Mace Tyrell was already removing his daughter’s maiden cloak, with great ceremony. Renly was all smiles, accepting the bride’s cloak from their cousin Andrew Estermont, and draping it over Margaery’s shoulder. He moved closer to her to fasten the clasp at her throat, his hand grazing her skin, and Margaery blushed. The guests laughed, and some even cheered. Not a mocking laugh, Stannis knew, as was the case during his own wedding. 

_Does she know what she is getting into?_ Stannis wondered. Or was her father’s ambition all that mattered? 

His speculation was interrupted by the sound of Arya Stark whispering too loudly to Shireen. “Why does she have to change cloaks?” 

Shireen shook her head. It was Arya’s sister who answered, her voice low but still audible to Stannis. “If you had listened to Septa Mordane you would have known. It is to signify the bride passing from her father’s protection to her husband’s.” Sansa Stark had a faraway look in her eyes. The girl had once been betrothed to Joffrey. Stannis wondered if she was thinking of a wedding that could have been at one time, but would never be now. 

_You should consider yourself lucky not to be wed to that boy_ , he thought. 

“Lord Renly doesn’t look like he can protect anyone, really,” Arya whispered. 

“Lord Renly fought gallantly during the Tourney of the Hand,” Sansa scolded her sister. “And you shouldn't speak of Princess Shireen’s uncle like that.” Sansa was looking at Shireen, her expression apologetic.

Shireen smiled. “Lady Margaery does not seem like she would need anybody’s protection.” 

“With this kiss I pledge my love,” Renly’s voice rang inside the Great Sept of Baelor. 

“With this kiss I pledge my love.” There was no hesitation in Margaery Tyrell’s reply. Her voice was calm and steady. Renly pulled her for the kiss, but it was a very short kiss, to the seeming disappointment of the guests. He laughed, and in his most charming and ingratiating manner said to the crowd, “Well, we have to save some things for our first night.” He turned to look at his bride. “Don’t we, my love?” Margaery blushed again. Stannis studied her more intently this time. The blushing bride routine was starting to feel like an act to him. 

The guests, however, were hooting and cheering. Renly and Margaery had them eating out of the palms of their hands. The crowds lining the streets too. Cheers and smiles and laughs followed Renly and Margaery all the way from the Great Sept back to the great hall at the Red Keep, where the wedding feast would be held.

Cheers, smiles and laughs. All the things that had been missing from Stannis’ coronation. Not that he would have wanted it any other way. The cheers of the crowd would not help him protect the realm, and fulfill his duty to the kingdom. 

All the things that had been missing from Stannis' and Selyse’s wedding too. Would his wife have wanted that to be different? 

_Would I have wanted that to be different?_

The answers to both questions eluded Stannis. He was still searching for them, perhaps in the wrong places, as the wedding feast finally began. He was counting the minutes until it was possible for him to leave. 

Possibly not until after the bedding ritual, he despaired. Or the Tyrells would take it as an insult. Not that he particularly cared how they would take it. But Renly … Renly on the other hand …

Stannis was determined not to do anything that might mar his brother’s wedding.

The way Robert had done at Stannis’ wedding. 

_He is dead. Let it go,_ he admonished himself. But knowing himself, he knew that was easier said than done. Letting go of anything was not a talent he possessed. 

"Perhaps you would like your only daughter's wedding to be held at Highgarden," Stannis had asked Mace Tyrell, when they were negotiating the terms. 

"That is a most gracious offer, Your Grace, but I am sure that Lord Renly would like his only remaining brother to be in attendance for his wedding. And now is perhaps not a good time for Your Grace to leave King's Landing, with the Lannister army approaching." 

_And yet you think this is a good time for a wedding._

"It was such a lovely ceremony, wasn't it, Your Grace? I had tears in my eyes, it was so beautiful and touching," Mace Tyrell's voice was speaking to him now. 

"We both did," his wife Lady Alerie echoed his words. 

_Do they expect me to say I was crying too?_ And if Stannis recalled correctly, he had not seen any tears on Mace Tyrell's face, only unbridled joy. For his daughter? Or for his ambition? 

It was Selyse who replied, after Stannis had stayed silent far longer than courtesy allowed. "It was ... quite lovely, yes." 

"I wonder if Her Grace the queen would do me the honor of dancing with the father of the bride," Mace Tyrell said. 

_I wonder that your voice does not choke calling Selyse of House Florent "Her Grace"_ , Stannis mused. 

To Stannis’ great surprise, Selyse agreed to dance with Mace Tyrell. As she was getting up from her seat, she whispered to Stannis, "Ask Lady Alerie to dance. It is expected of you." 

Expected of him? Lady Alerie _was_ lingering and looking at him expectantly. He gritted his teeth, and was about to ask her to dance, when Renly came and swept his new mother-in-law away. Lady Alerie seemed thoroughly charmed by her son-in-law, and most eyes were on them as they danced together. 

Mace Tyrell and Selyse did not seem to be having as good a time, Stannis observed. They barely seemed to be talking to each other at all, both their expressions stiff and formal. But Mace Tyrell was all smiles again as he returned Selyse to Stannis' side. 

"Why didn't you ask her to dance?" Selyse whispered furiously to Stannis. "I won't have it said that we don't know courtesy the way the Tyrells do." 

"Renly is dancing with Lady Alerie," Stannis replied simply. He avoided his wife's gaze and surveyed the room. Paxter Redwyne was also in attendance, with his wife, Mace’s sister Mina Tyrell. 

_Like a reunion of the siege_ , Stannis thought. _Perhaps_ _we_ _should have served_ _them_ _horses_ _and dogs for the feast. And when we run out of those,_ _cats and rats_ _and boiled leather._

He stared at his little brother, dancing with his Tyrell bride now, and thought of that little boy crying himself to sleep every night, hungry, and grieving for his dead friends. 

_How could you forget so easily?_

But part of him was relieved that Renly did not remember things as clearly as he did. Had not consigned everything to memory as obsessively as he had. 

He moved his gaze away from Renly and Margaery. Margaery's other brother Garlan Tyrell was dancing with Sansa Stark. The girl was sneaking glances at Loras Tyrell, however, who was sitting at his table drinking heavily, not dancing with anyone. 

_This is what you wanted to happen, isn't it? When you told Renly about Lord Tywin's offer._

Mace Tyrell had wanted Loras in the Kingsguard, as part of the terms of the marriage. Stannis had balked at that. There was no vacancy in the Kingsguard at the moment. 

"But surely ... Your Grace could choose your own men."

"The Sworn Brothers of the Kingsguard serve for life, as you well know, Lord Tyrell. Unless they have committed a crime, like Jaime Lannister. And I have no wish to meddle with their tradition."

"Cersei Lannister had her brother in the Kingsguard when she was queen. It would make me feel so much safer, about Margaery, if her brother is in the Kingsguard too," Mace Tyrell replied. 

_Fool!_ Stannis thought. Cersei and Jaime Lannister were hardly the shining examples to be used to convince him of anything. 

"Your daughter will not be queen after her wedding," Stannis reminded Lord Tyrell. "My lady wife is still the queen. Queen Selyse," Stannis said the name clearly, and slowly, for emphasis. 

Mace Tyrell had looked flustered. "Of course, of course, Your Grace. I only meant, she will be part of Your Grace’s family too, after she marries your brother, and will be under the protection of the Kingsguard too." 

Renly voice broke through Stannis' reverie. "Won’t the king ask my bride to dance?" He asked, from across the room. 

Selyse was glaring at Stannis. "It’s your duty," she whispered. "Didn't you see how loudly they cheered for your brother and his new bride?" He glared at her in reply. But he had already decided to dance with Margaery Tyrell, to have a chance to observe her more closely. 

She was a much more accomplished dancer than he could ever be, he knew from the first few steps they took together. But she was masking her own skill to match his own. Her steps were suddenly slower and less certain. Deliberately slower and less certain. He was not flattered or grateful for her effort. Some would call it tact. Stannis considered it a lie. 

Margaery was asking Stannis if he had any advice about marriage. Stannis studied the girl. She seemed earnest enough, the question seemed earnest enough, but this was no mere naive girl, he had decided. "Be mindful of your duty, and your vows," he told her.

"Thank you, Your Grace. I will remember that, always," she curtsied. 

He wondered what it was he had truly done. When Jon Arryn arranged Robert's marriage with Cersei Lannister, he thought he was securing Robert’s throne, but he ended up turning King’s Landing into a Lannister stronghold, filled with actual Lannisters and people loyal to the Lannisters, or at least loyal to the Lannister gold, in every nook and cranny of the city. Was he making the same mistake with the Tyrells? 

_I had no choice. A Tyrell-Lannister alliance would finish us._ This was the price he had to pay, for the Tyrell army. And the Tyrell gold. 

He recalled Robert’s wedding. Cersei had looked like a happy bride, gazing adoringly at Robert. Was that merely a mummer’s farce? Was she thinking of her twin brother the whole time? Or had there been something there, in the very beginning? A seed not watered but drowned to oblivion instead. Robert had been drinking heavily at the wedding feast. He was already drunk during the bedding ritual, his hands lustily touching the women stripping him in places he should only be touching his wife. 

It was time for the bedding for Renly's wedding. Stannis had no intention of joining, he had no desire to see Mace Tyrell’s daughter naked. Renly was laughing uproariously as the women stripped him. All charms and smiles, and silly japes and naughty words, giving as good as he got. He did not seem nervous at all. 

_How much_ _is_ _acting and how much_ _is_ _real?_ Stannis wondered. 

Stannis remembered his own bedding. Even the women stripping him had been silent. There had been no laughter or lewd and bawdy jokes. For once in his life, he would have welcomed those, to take his mind off what was coming. But the women had seemed too uncomfortable with him. Or perhaps too terrified was a better word. 

It was Margaery’s turn next. She was all shy maiden, with just the right hint of fear and excitement. She knew what she was doing, this girl. Margaery and Renly disappeared into their wedding chamber, and the music started playing again. Stannis spotted Loras watching the newly wedded and about to be bedded couple, his expression morose. 

He had not touched her, that first night. His wife. Not after Robert and Delena, on the bed that was supposed to seal their marriage. He glanced at his wife now, and wondered if things would have been different between them if he had. Selyse returned his glance with a questioning look on her face. Instead of looking away, as he had done a million times before, as he wanted to do still now, he held her gaze this time.

 


	23. The Pretender

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bit about Robert's hunting knife is based on this conversation between Tywin and Tyrion in A Storm of Swords: 
> 
> “If you have need of a dagger, take one from the armory. Robert left a hundred when he died. Gerion gave him a gilded dagger with an ivory grip and a sapphire pommel for a wedding gift, and half the envoys who came to court tried to curry favor by presenting His Grace with jewel-encrusted knives and silver inlay swords.” Tyrion smiled. “They’d have pleased him more if they’d presented him with their daughters.”“No doubt. The only blade he ever used was the hunting knife he had from Jon Arryn, when he was a boy.” Lord Tywin waved a hand, dismissing King Robert and all his knives.
> 
> Thank you so much for still reading : )

“Do you recognize this?”

Ned Stark studied the knife Stannis was holding out to him. “Yes,” he replied. “It's Robert's hunting knife. Jon gave it to him.” Ned paused, his hand hovering over the handle. “A long time ago,” he murmured softly. “When we were only boys.”

“It's the only knife Robert ever used when he went out hunting. Oh, he got plenty of knives and swords from lords and envoys alike, all eager to curry favor with him, no doubt,” Stannis scoffed. “But this was the only one he ever used.”

“Because Jon gave it to him,” Ned said.

Stannis nodded. “Keep it,” Stannis said, thrusting the knife into Ned's hand.

“Your Grace?” Ned's expression was a mixture of bewilderment, and something else Stannis could not decipher. “I-”

Stannis interrupted. “I have no taste for hunting. What would I do with a hunting knife? It's useless to me.”

_And Robert would want you to have it. Not me._

Ned was watching his face carefully, trying to catch his eyes. _Damn it, Ned_ , Stannis thought. _Will you just take it? Before I change my mind._

“If you have no use for it either, I'll send it down to the armory.”

“No!” Ned's reply was swift. “I … I will keep it. But only if you really wish me to, Your Grace.”

Stannis met Ned's gaze unflinchingly. “I said so, didn't I?”

Ned held the knife in his hand, his fingers slowly feeling down the length of the blade. “Still sharp after all these years,” he marveled. “I still remember the day Jon gave this to Robert. Robert wanted to go hunting right away. He was so excited.”

“Yes, he wrote about it in one of his infrequent letters,” Stannis replied.

In one of his infrequent letters to his fatherless and motherless brothers at Storm's End. Letters filled with news of his exciting and fascinating adventures at the Eyrie with Ned Stark. And his foster father Jon Arryn. Stannis could still recall the content of almost every letter Robert had sent them, even now.

Something in the tone of Stannis' reply caught Ned Stark's attention. “He thought of you and Renly, often,” Ned said. “But you know Robert, he was not the most -”

“Let's not do this,” Stannis said firmly.

“Your Grace?”

“There is no point to it. Rehashing the past, explanations, justifications. It wouldn't change anything. The past is the past. It already happened.”

 _And my brother is already dead. Nothing can touch him now._ He was not sure if he felt relief, or anger.

“But sometimes people misunderstood the past,” Ned said insistently.

“No. It is only that two people could understand the same things completely differently,” Stannis replied, equally insistently. “And what does it matter now? Robert is dead.”

“It matters to the living,” Ned replied.

This was not the conversation he wanted to have with Ned Stark. Stannis looked away, and swiftly changed the subject to the real reason he wanted to see his Hand in his bedchamber. “Have you received confirmation about Lady Arryn and Littlefinger? Was Varys merely spreading a rumor, or is there any truth to it?”

Ned looked grave. “Varys was correct, Your Grace. Lysa has indeed wed Littlefinger. My wife's uncle, Ser Brynden Tully has confirmed it.”

“Is Ser Brynden still serving the Arryn?”

“No, Your Grace. He left the Vale when the Lannisters started attacking Riverrun, to aid his brother and his nephew. But he still has plenty of friends in the Vale, lords and knights and common folks worried about this marriage, and what it will mean for the Vale.”

“Varys told me that Littlefinger means to convince Lady Arryn to call her banners for the Lannisters. There is little danger she will agree, surely? How can she call the banners of House Arryn for the people she believes murdered Jon Arryn? Her own husband?”

Ned was silent for a long while. “I cannot explain it myself, Your Grace. But Lysa is very different now. Unpredictable, as my wife said. Her judgment might not be the ... wisest … at the moment.”

“Lady Stark has seen her sister? Recently?”

“She took Tyrion Lannister to the Eyrie,” Ned replied. “When she had him seized for the attempt on our son's life.”

“That was ill-done,” Stannis grumbled. “She should have taken him here, to King's Landing, to face the king's judgment.”

Ned did not hesitate in his reply. “While King's Landing was still a Lannister stronghold? While Cersei Lannister was still queen and Joffrey Lannister was still heir to the throne? What hope of justice did we have then?”

“You were Hand of the King at the time. And Robert was king. Robert would have listened to you, if not to your wife.”

“There were plenty of times when he did not listen to my words, as you well know, Your Grace,” Ned replied sadly.

That was true enough, Stannis thought,as he recalled Ned's stay in the dungeon. He cast his thought away from that, to ponder the suspicion that had been brewing in his mind since Varys told him of Lysa's and Littlefinger's marriage. It was merely a suspicion at this point, however. He could not broach the subject directly with Ned Stark yet.

 _And what would I tell him anyway? I don't think the Lannisters murdered Jon Arryn after all, Ned. I think it was your wife's sister._ _Because her husband was going to send her son away, to be fostered at Dragonstone. And Littlefinger must be involved too, in some way. Perhaps he knew, or suspected. And is blackmailing Lysa Arryn. “Wed me, and call your banners for House Lannister, or I will tell the whole realm what you did. You will be driven out of the Vale, and you will never see your son again.”_

Stannis did not put much stock in Varys' comment that Lysa Arryn had always resented her father for forbidding her from marrying the man she had always loved. He had never seen anything suspicious or any sign of a relationship, or even a previous relationship, between Lady Arryn and Littlefinger, in all the years he had observed them in King's Landing.

But perhaps, he thought wearily, his own judgment on love and relationship was not the most reliable.

“Did Littlefinger wish to marry Lady Arryn before she was betrothed to Jon Arryn? Is that what Varys meant when he said Littlefinger had designs to be part of the Tully family?” He asked Ned.

Ned seemed shocked. “Littlefinger and _Lysa_? No, I do not know anything about that.”

There was something suggestive about the way Ned had said Lysa Arryn's name. Stannis seized on it immediately. “Littlefinger and someone else, then? Lady Stark, perhaps, before she was betrothed to your brother Brandon?” He asked. And promptly regretted it, after seeing the expression on Ned Stark's face. Wary. Uncomfortable.

_This has nothing to do with Lysa Arryn and Littlefinger. I should not have asked the question._

But Ned was already replying to his question before he could rescind it. “It was after Brandon's betrothal to Cat, actually. Littlefinger challenged him to a duel, for Cat's hand in marriage. It was absurd, of course, even if Littlefinger had won, Lord Tully would never have allowed the marriage to take place, Cat was betrothed to Brandon. As it is, Brandon defeated him easily enough.”

Petyr Baelish and Catelyn Tully? Not Petyr Baelish and Lysa Tully. So Varys must have been lying after all, Stannis thought. He wondered what Hoster Tully thought of Littlefinger marrying his other daughter now. But Lysa Arryn was a widow and not a maiden, and she did not need her father's permission to wed again.

All these complications of weddings and betrothals. Of matches wished for and snubbed. Of betrothals arranged and then broken. It all seemed utterly incomprehensible to Stannis. Ned Stark had married his brother's betrothed after his death, a younger brother doing his duty and keeping a promise. Did he love another woman before his marriage? The mother of his bastard, perhaps?

And what of Lady Stark, promised to marry one man, but wedded to another? Stannis had not known Brandon Stark, but what little he had heard of him reminded Stannis of Robert at his most reckless and irresponsible. And at his most charming. People had often spoken of Brandon Stark's charm too. And good looks. The way they had often spoken of Robert. The way they still spoke of Renly now.

 _I doubt anyone would ever call Ned Stark charming_ , Stannis thought. Dutiful and honorable, yes, but not charming.

“I was never meant to be Lord of Winterfell,” Ned was saying, his voice low. “Brandon was the one trained for it. And the one meant to marry Cat. He would have done a better job of it. Of ... everything. Even being a king's Hand.”

“I doubt it,” Stannis scoffed.

“You never knew my brother Brandon,” Ned said.

“But I know you,” Stannis replied. He hesitated, before asking. “Will it ever go away?”

Ned was looking at him uncomprehendingly. “Your Grace?”

“The feeling that you're merely a pretender. That you do not belong … there. Does it ever end?”

“You _are_ the rightful king,” Ned insisted. “You are not a pretender. You belong on the Iron Throne.”

“Yes, yes, I know that,” Stannis said impatiently. “That is my throne, by all the laws of the Seven Kingdoms, and it is my duty to fight for it to my last breath. And that is what I will do. But that is not what I was asking you. Does it ever end?”

Ned looked deep in thought. “That feeling? Not entirely, no. It gets better, with the passing of years, with all the duties and responsibilities we have to bear. But there will always be that little voice in our head, doubting, questioning. Especially at our lowest moments.”

“Well, that's very reassuring,” Stannis said drily.

“It's the truth, Your Grace. At least … it has been in my experience.”

They stared at each other, Stannis and Ned, middle sons both, sitting where they were never meant to be.

“Robert used to grumble about how he was not meant to be king. _It should have been Ned, or Jon. Damn my Targaryen blood,_ he'd shout,” Stannis said. “What kind of a king do you think you would have been?”

The question seemed to shock Ned Stark to the core, as if it was something he had never considered before. “I have never thought of it. That was not why I fought.”

Ned Stark had fought for justice for his father and brother, and to save his sister. But she had died anyway.

“If Robert had died at the Trident ...”

Ned shook his head. “Then it would have been in your name we rallied our banners and continued to fight. As Robert's heir. Not me or Jon.”

“I doubt the other lords would have agreed to that,” Stannis said skeptically. “ _Who is this Stannis Baratheon_? They would have said. _He is not fighting with us, liberating town after town from the Mad King. He's hold up at Storm's End like a coward._ I have heard that said often enough after the rebellion.”

“But they did agree to it. Robert worked very hard to convince them, before the battle at the Trident. Robert was confident that he would have no trouble defeating Rhaegar Targaryen, but Jon reminded him that nothing was certain in war,” Ned replied.

Stannis had not known this. Robert had never told him. Neither had Jon Arryn. And why should they? Robert had survived the war, what he had intended in case he had not survived did not matter to anyone. Least of all to Stannis.

 _No_ , a voice violently disagreed in his head. His own voice. _It does matter. It would have mattered to me._

And yet he could not say why. Why it would have mattered to him. And why knowing the truth now was making him think of missed opportunities. Of all the things that could have been.

Perhaps he would not have been so bitter about losing Storm's End to his younger brother, if he had known. He rejected this thought. He would have been bitter about that no matter what.

But perhaps he would not have been so eager to believe the worst when it came to Robert's intentions over the years, if he had known.

_We could never have been brothers the way Robert was with Ned, but perhaps it did not have to be as contentious as it was._

He stared out the window, the same window he was staring out from the night Robert died. In the room that had been Robert's, but was now his. The king's bedchamber. He could hear Ned clearing his throat behind him.

“Your Grace?”

“Tell me about my brother, Ned. Tell me about Robert,” he said, his eyes still looking out the window.

 


	24. Brother, Husband, Father, King

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry about the long hiatus. Thank you for still reading :D

“Your Grace?” Ned's words sounded as if they were coming from a thousand leagues away. Stannis' thoughts were focused on one thing and one thing only. Davos. Davos in the hands of the Lannisters. No, in the hands of Victarion Greyjoy, to be precise, but he was sure to be handed over to Tywin Lannister very soon.

“Your Grace?”

“What else? What else does the letter say? How many were killed? How many captured?”

_What about Davos' sons?_

Matthos who was Davos' second on _Black Betha_ , and Allard the captain of _Lady Marya,_ had followed Davos to Lannisport. Dale the eldest Seaworth brother was still at Dragonstone, guarding Robert's bastards and their mothers, a task Stannis had entrusted to him. Maric was at King's Landing, arriving with Stannis' war galley Fury from Dragonstone a few days ago.

Ned closed his eyes. “They did not take many prisoners. Ser Davos … Ser Davos lost his two sons.”

Dale and Maric were spared, at least. For now. Devan too.

Stannis pounded his fist on the table. “How could this happen? Where were Paxter Redwyne's ships? They should have arrived by now.”

It was Mace Tyrell who replied. “They were delayed by a storm, Your Grace. And it was a surprise attack by the Greyjoy's fleet. Ser Davos' fleet was still quite a distance away from Lannisport. Victarion Greyjoy had vastly more ships and more men, Ser Davos' fleet had no chance against them.”

“Precisely why I sent Lord Redwyne and his ships there in the first place!” Stannis shouted. “For reinforcement. When I ordered Ser Davos and his fleet to sail to Lannisport, there was no indication that the Greyjoys had joined forces with the Lannisters. Ser Davos' order was to close off Lannisport from trade, not engage in battles. They did not have enough men for that.”

Stannis had crushed Victarion Greyjoy's fleet during the Greyjoy rebellion. Davos had been at the front line of Stannis' fleet, his ship and Stannis' ship trapping Victarion's ship.

 _Does he remember that? He swore that he will always remember his defeat, and return the favor one day. But does he remember Davos_?

“Where are Lord Redwyne's fleet now?” Stannis asked.

“On their way back to the Arbor, Your Grace,” Mace Tyrell replied.

Stannis stared at his Master of Ships in disbelief. “And who told them to do that? They should have waited for my instructions!”

Everything seemed to be going wrong, one thing after another.

Mace Tyrell was looking defensive, not meeting Stannis' eyes. He cleared his throat before speaking. “I understand that you are worried about the fate of your onion knight, Your Grace, but there was nothing else for them to do. The Greyjoy fleet was too large, they would have been killed or captured as well, had they tried to rescue Ser Davos and his men. The few of his men who are still alive, that is.”

Stannis exploded in anger. “This is not about Ser Davos and his men! This is about following orders.” He paused to calm himself. Mace Tyrell's skeptical look, as well as his covert glances to other members of the small council displeased Stannis. “I am commanding them to come to King's Landing, to help fortify the city's defense,” Stannis finally said.

Mace Tyrell looked reluctant. “Your Grace, King's Landing already has the royal fleet protecting it. The Reach needs protection as well, if Tywin Lannister decides to attack.”

 _He knows as well as I do that the royal fleet is smaller than the fleet led by Paxter Redwyne_. That was another source of power for the Tyrells, in addition to being the second richest House in the kingdom; the fact that House Redwyne their bannermen commanded a naval force larger than the royal fleet itself.

“Tywin Lannister wants his grandson to be king, not Lord of the Reach. They will be attacking King's Landing, not the Reach,” Stannis replied scornfully.

Mace Tyrell nodded his head reluctantly. “As you wish, Your Grace.” But he did not look happy. He was giving Renly a meaningful look, but Renly pretended not to notice.

Ned Stark lingered in the small council room after Stannis dismissed the rest of the council.

“Ser Davos …” Ned began.

“There is nothing we can do at this point. They must believe he is more valuable as a hostage if he is still alive. Once we have crushed the Lannisters and the Greyjoys …” Stannis said, more to convince himself than to convince Ned.

Ned nodded. “Tywin Lannister is not a fool.”

Stannis agreed. “No, he is not a fool. Whatever else the man is, he is definitely _not_ a fool.”

 _Victarion Greyjoy could be a fool. What if Davos never made it into Tywin's hands?_ Stannis barked out an involuntary laugh, bitter and full of scorn for himself. _I am perhaps the biggest fool._

Ned was waiting for him patiently, showing no sign of surprise at the sound of Stannis laughing. “What about that other thing we talked about?” Stannis asked brusquely.

“I've taken care of it,” Ned assured him. “When is the queen and Princess Shireen leaving for Dragonstone?”

“Tomorrow,” Stannis replied. Ned Stark had already sent his two daughters back to Winterfell. Stannis recalled his last conversation with Arya Stark, when the girl came to say goodbye to Shireen.

“Will Princess Shireen be staying here in the city with you?” Arya had asked.

“No, I'm sending her back to Dragonstone. With her mother.”

“Why can't she come to Winterfell with Sansa and me instead? Winterfell is too far north, Tywin Lannister will not attack us,” Arya said imploringly.

“The Greyjoys might,” Stannis replied. “I'm sure your father already told you this. The Greyjoys have joined the Lannisters in this war.”

“Is Dragonstone really safe? What if they decide to attack Dragonstone, because they know your wife and daughter are there?”

“I'm not a fool, child,” Stannis replied impatiently. “I have arranged for sufficient protection and precaution.”

“The Mad King sent his pregnant wife and his son to Dragonstone, during the last war. You went to capture them, didn't you?” The girl was not done questioning him, it seemed.

“Yes, but they already escaped when I arrived.”

“What if … what if you lose this war, and Shireen and the queen don't have time to escape?”

“They will,” Stannis said firmly. He had arranged for that as well. “And I am not going to lose this war.”

“You'd better not. If Joffrey wins, he will kill my father, and maybe even demand Sansa for his bride.”

Stannis had no reply to that, so he stayed silent.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Arya said suddenly, looking uncertain.

“For what?”

“For … saving my father.”

“I did not save him, my brother Robert did. He was the one who decided to pardon your father for his crime,” Stannis said.

“Because you asked him to. I guess he did care about you after all, he listened to you. And I guess you care about my father after all, enough to ask your brother to pardon him.”

Stannis was about to vehemently protest, but Arya was quicker. “I know, I know, you did it for the realm, not for my father, but still, I'm grateful. I thought my father was going to die, that the late King Robert would kill him.”

“I suppose I should thank you as well,” Stannis said, after a long awkward pause.

“For what?”

“For being a good friend to my daughter.”

Arya smiled. “She is a better friend to me.” She glanced outside. “I have to go, I promise Sansa and Septa Mordane I won't be long.” Yet she still lingered. Arya and Shireen had hugged as they said their farewells, Stannis had seen them.

_Is she expecting me to hug her too? What nonsense!_

Or did she have something else to say? Or something she wanted him to promise?

“I can't promise that your father will be fine,” Stannis said abruptly. “War is unpredictable.”

Arya looked away. “I know.”

“I will not lie to you.”

“I know that too.”

Selyse had not wanted to leave, had wanted to stay in King's Landing with him. It was her duty as queen to be here for her people, her duty as a wife to be here for her husband.

“And what about your duty as a mother? To protect our daughter,” Stannis countered.

She almost slapped him. She wanted too, he could see it from her expression and the way she was restraining her hand. “How dare you? Don't you dare use that against me!”

“Shireen is third in line for the throne. If something were to happen to Renly and me, she will be queen. A ruling queen. There is no other Baratheon.” Margaery Tyrell was still not pregnant. Probably still a maiden, Stannis half-suspected. “Shireen must be protected, she must not be here when the Lannisters attack.”

“King Aerys sent his pregnant wife and his son to Dragontone. Look how much good it did them,” Selyse replied with scorn.

“They escaped, didn't they? Viserys and Daenerys Targaryen.”

 _Look what happened to Elia Martell and her children because they were in King's Landing when the city fell_.

“If the king sends his wife and daughter away, it's akin to telling the people of the city that he has no confidence in winning. How can they have faith in him?”

“I am here, I will be fighting. That's how. I will not use my wife and daughter as a shield to gain the support and confidence of the city.”

Selyse finally relented, with extreme reluctance. It was a pity in a way; they had been getting along not quite as badly as in the past for the last few months.

Maester Cressen could not be convinced to leave with Selyse and Shireen. “I am an old man, there is nothing I can do to protect Princess Shireen,” he had replied to Stannis' words.

“Well, there is nothing you can do here. Do you think you can protect me, you with your creaking old bones, old man?”

“No, I don't imagine that, Your Grace,” Cressen replied, smiling serenely. “But if the Seven wills it that you and Lord Renly were to perish in this war, then I will die with you both. That's what your father would have wanted.”

“My father was never a cruel man,” Stannis protested.

“I promised him before he left for that accursed trip that I will look after his sons while he was away. I mean to keep my promise.”

“What if I want you to make another promise? To promise to keep my daughter safe,” Stannis said.

Cressen looked sad. “I made that promise to your father first. I am bounded by that promise still. And your daughter still has her mother. There is no fiercer protector than a mother, Your Grace. You and Lord Renly have neither a father nor a mother.”

Stannis had left it to Selyse to explain to Shireen why they would be leaving for Dragonstone. He went to see her in her room while she was packing. She seemed glad to see him, and did not look distressed about leaving King's Landing.

“Do you need help packing your things?” Stannis asked, sitting down on her bed.

“No, I can do it myself,” she replied, smiling. The smile faded from her face suddenly. “Why is Devan coming with us to Dragonstone? Why is he not staying here with you?”

Stannis was surprised, he had thought that his daughter liked Devan's company.

“Why? Don't you want him to come?”

Shireen looked conflicted. “I thought you like him,” Stannis said.

“I do,” she replied. “But …” she was looking up to him with eyes full of tears. He had never seen her cry, not since she was a baby. Tears were falling down her cheeks, but she was not making any sound. Stannis froze, unsure what he should do. He touched her shoulder hesitantly, but that did not slow down the tears. He wiped the tears from her face. She said nothing at first, but as his hand was about to touch the cheek with the greyscale, her hand intercepted his.

“I can wipe my own tears, Father,” she said, her voice subdued yet still firm.

“I'll do it,” he said, firmly. She let him.

“You understand why I'm sending you and your mother to Dragonstone, don't you?” Stannis asked after she had stopped crying.

Shireen nodded. “Yes, Mother explained it to me.”

“Then why were you crying?” She moved so fast, suddenly her face was buried in his arm. “I had a bad dream,” she said, her voice muffled.

“About the stone dragons again?”

“Yes, only this time, they were not coming to eat me. They were … they were chasing _you_.” She looked up, eyes huge and shining. “It's not a sign, is it, Father?”

“A sign?”

“The Lannister sigil is a lion, not a dragon,” she said emphatically.

A sign that he would lose the war? A sign that he would be killed? Was that what was making her cry?

“A dream cannot foretell the future,” Stannis said firmly. “A dream is only a dream. You were .. worried, that's why you dreamed about the stone dragons chasing me.”

She looked hopeful. “Really? Is that really all?”

“Yes,” he nodded firmly. She was smiling, and he hated to wipe that smile off her face. But he would not lie to his daughter. “But Shireen, you understand that war is unpredictable, don't you?”

“You mean you could die?”

“Yes. I'm not planning to die, of course, or lose the war, but it could happen. And you must be ready for that. Because if I die, then your uncle Renly will be king and you will be his heir. If uncle Renly dies, then you are my heir and you will be queen after me. If uncle Renly and I both die in this war, then you _are_ the queen, the ruling queen.”

He wondered the next day while he was having his dinner, alone, if he had burdened Shireen with too much of the truth. “Not lying does not mean you have to tell her _everything_ ,” Selyse had admonished him. “She is still a child.” Stannis was so preoccupied pondering that question, he did not notice Renly walking into his bedchamber.

Renly stared at Stannis' dinner - boiled eggs and lemon water - and smirked. “I'm glad to see that your wife and daughter being away has not dampened your appetite for good food.”

Stannis did not rise to the bait. “Have you had dinner?” He asked simply.

“Yes,” Renly replied. “With my lovely wife, her charming father, and … and my brother-in-law. Duck, we had roasted duck. And peach pie. Made from fresh peaches brought especially from Highgarden.”

It sounded like a horrible dinner to Stannis, but he refrained from saying so. Renly was pacing the room, looking distracted. He walked from the door to the window, and then back to the door, again to the window, over and over again. It reminded Stannis of that little boy who used to pace Robert's room for hours while Robert was away at the Eyrie.

“You're not sending Margaery back to Highgarden, then?” Stannis asked.

“I suggested it, but she has nobly refused. _Since the queen is not here, it is my duty to comfort the people of the city_ , that's what she said. Her father agreed.” Renly glanced at Stannis. “She was not criticizing Selyse,” he said hurriedly. “She knows how important it is for Shireen to be kept safe.”

“Maybe you should go to Dragonstone too. You're my heir after all,” Stannis said.

Renly scoffed. “Not likely. Who's going to rally behind an heir who hides while the fighting is going on?”

Renly sat down on the chair across the table from Stannis. “Aren't you going to offer your brother something to drink?”

“What would you like? Water? Lemon water?”

Renly burst out laughing. “Are those the only options?”

“What would you like instead? Wine? This isn't a good time to be drunk.”

“How about water with a pinch of salt?” Renly replied.

“How clever. Your talent for mockery has lessened considerably of late. Perhaps you need more practice.”

Renly frowned. “I was not mocking you. I'm serious, I would like to try that, water with a dash of salt.”

“Why?” Stannis asked suspiciously.

Renly shrugged. “I suppose to see why you like it so much. It must taste awful,” he said, wrinkling his nose and mouth with distaste.

“Why do people drink wine when it makes them feel awful the next morning? That's a much bigger mystery, I should think,” Stannis snapped.

Renly smiled. “Ahhhh, but wine makes you feel good, while you're drinking it. And being drunk is quite pleasant, you don't have to remember unpleasant things.”

“Being drunk always made Robert thought of the past more vehemently,” Stannis muttered under his breath.

The smile faded from Renly's face. “Robert was a different kind of drunk. A sad, maudlin drunk, instead of a jaunty, cheery one.”

Stannis eyed Renly with suspicion. “I hope you're not turning into a drunk as well. We don't need another Baratheon with too much fondness for drinking.”

“Don't worry, brother. My vice lies in another direction altogether.” Renly's hand was holding an empty goblet, vigorously swirling the non-existent liquid inside. Stannis went back to his dinner, ignoring his brother. If Renly had something to say to him, he would say it eventually. Asking questions or hurrying him along would only prolong matters.

“What _is_ your secret vice, Stannis?” Renly finally spoke, looking at Stannis challengingly.

“I have none,” Stannis said firmly.

Renly raised his eyebrows. “Everyone has one. Or more than one.”

“Well, I don't,” Stannis said with finality.

“I don't believe you.”

“Are you accusing me of lying?” Stannis was offended.

Renly smiled, a sardonic smile. “No, no. I don't think you're lying to _me_. But perhaps you're lying to yourself. Or just unaware of your own secret vice.” He laughed, a disconcerting laugh that struck a jarring note to Stannis. “Let's face it, self-awareness is not one of your talents, brother.”

Stannis pushed aside his plate, and stared at his brother. His only brother. “Why don't you tell me what my secret vice is, then? You seem to think you know all about it.”

Renly met his gaze. “Do you really want to know? I'm not sure you can handle it. As you're always lecturing me, the truth can be very bitter and unpleasant sometimes.”

Stannis did not appreciate his words being thrown back in his face. He glared at Renly.

“Well, all right, if you insist. But don't blame me if your feeling is hurt,” Renly said in a mocking tone.

“But I thought you've always maintained that I do not have feelings. Or a heart,” Stannis countered. “Have you changed your -”

“You are a hopeless dreamer,” Renly said abruptly.

 _A dreamer?_ Stannis laughed, a laugh full of scorn. “That is the most ridiculous thing you have ever said, and you have said a lot of ridiculous and stupid things in your life, Renly.”

Renly shrugged. “Well, you wanted me to tell you. Obviously you can't handle the truth.”

“It's not ' _the truth_ '. It's some strange notion you have in your head,” Stannis scoffed. _Or perhaps he is merely trying to get a rise out of me._ Stannis cursed himself for falling for it.

“You expect the world to always follow a certain order. Law, justice, the way things should be. An older brother should inherit a castle before a younger brother. The rightful king should get the support of everyone. But that's not how the world is. Not even close,” Renly said, his tone not mocking this time, but sounding almost mournful.

Stannis smashed the goblet of lemon water he was holding on the table, hard. Renly did not flinch at the sound. “Don't you think I know that?” Stannis said bitterly. “Don't you think, I, Stannis Baratheon, of all people, know that already? How naïve do you take me for? I know more about how the world is than you do, Renly, believe me. More than you will ever know.”

_More than I want you to know. More than I ever wanted to know myself._

“And yet you've never stopped expecting things to behave as it should. That's why you keep getting disappointed.”

“I have no illusion about the way things are. The way the world is. Not anymore,” Stannis said.

“You can't be disillusioned unless you had illusions in the first place,” Renly pointed out.

Stannis said nothing. “The trick,” Renly continued, “is not to have illusions at all. Not to expect too much of anything, or anyone. That way, you will never be bitterly disappointed.”

“I have _never_ expected much of anyone,” Stannis scoffed.

“Oh, but you do. Not in the way other people do, but in your own strange, twisted way.”

Stannis did not see the point of this conversation. He sighed heavily. “Is there something you want? Or something you need to tell me?”

Renly did not reply for the longest of time. “I've been dreaming about the siege,” he finally said, his voice almost a whisper.

Everyone was being plagued by bad dreams, it seemed. Stannis shuddered remembering his own dream. He pushed the thought aside.

“A dream is only a dream,” he repeated the words he had said to Shireen to his brother.

But this time, neither he nor Renly seemed all that convinced by those words.


	25. A Dream of Spring

 “Do you dream, Stannis?”

Stannis glared at his brother. “I am _not_ a dreamer, hopeless or otherwise,” he said sharply. “You are wrong, as always.”

Renly shook his head impatiently. “I meant at night. When you sleep. Do you dream?”

Stannis replied with a question of his own. “What did you dream of, when you dreamed about the siege?”

Renly closed his eyes. “Different things. Arguments. Arguments and loud voices, mostly. It’s strange however, I can’t quite understand what people are arguing about, most of the time.”

“Not so strange. Isn’t that how it usually is, in a dream? Voices half-heard, things only half-seen,” Stannis replied.

_People who recede further and further away the closer you get to them. Dissolving into nothingness in the end._

He had grabbed his mother’s hand in one dream, squeezing it so tightly he thought he had broken the bones. But she had disappeared anyway. _I’m sorry, Stannis. I have to go._

Renly snickered. “So Stannis Baratheon _does_ dream after all.” He paused. “No, the voices were clear enough. It was more like … I can’t comprehend what they were saying. Why they were arguing in the first place. And why they were so angry.”

Stannis scoffed. “Were they speaking Old Valyrian? Is that why you can’t comprehend the argument?”

Renly rolled his eyes. “No, Stannis, everyone spoke the Common Tongue. It’s like … it’s like when you were a child, spying on a conversation between the grown-ups. You understand what each word being spoken meant, but all the words together? They made no sense at all.”

“Well, I wouldn’t know. Unlike you, I was never in the habit of spying on other people’s conversation.” Stannis paused, before a thought occurred to him. “Who are this ‘ _they_ ’ you keep talking about?”

“You and Robert,” Renly replied, not looking at Stannis.

“Robert was not at Storm’s End during the siege. But I suppose anything is possible in a dream,” Stannis mused out loud.

_Did you dream of Robert coming to our rescue, Renly? Doing the things I could not do, the things I was not capable of doing._

“This was before he rode away to fight the war. When he came home to call the banners,” Renly replied. “You were arguing, the two of you, in Robert’s bedchamber.”

That was very specific for a dream, Stannis thought. Almost too precise in the details, in fact. Was Renly really describing a dream, or a memory?

“What did we argue about? Robert and I.”

“The king. The old king. The Mad King,” Renly replied, his fingers nervously drumming the table. “ _He is our king, our liege lord. We owe him our loyalty._ ” He stared at Stannis. “That’s what you were shouting to Robert.” He paused again, longer this time. “In my dream.”

That was indeed what Stannis had said to Robert, when Robert came home from the Eyrie to call his banners. Almost word-for-word, in fact. “You were spying on us, listening to our conversation,” Stannis said accusingly. “That is not a dream you were describing.”

Renly looked startled. “So it _is_ true after all. You did argue with Robert about the rebellion. I thought I was imagining things. Remembering something that never actually happened.”

“You mean … you didn’t remember?”

“Not until recently,” Renly said. His fingers were still in motion, tapping, pounding. The sound grated on Stannis’ nerves.

“What else have you remembered? Recently.” Stannis was not certain he really wanted to know.

Renly ignored the question. Instead, he was interrogating Stannis as if Stannis was a prisoner accused of a crime.  “Were you really considering staying loyal to the Mad King? Or were you just saying those things to annoy Robert?”

“I am not you. I don’t make a habit of saying things just to annoy others,” Stannis replied. “Go ahead, ask me the question you’ve been dying to ask. Ask me how I could even consider that. Ask me why it was even a choice for me. Ask me what kind of a brother I am, that I actually had a hard time choosing between my brother and my king.”

Robert had asked Stannis all that, and more. Had spitted out the words with contempt so strong and so powerful Stannis thought he would never recover from the agony.

Renly asked Stannis none of those questions. “What made you decide, in the end? Why did you choose Robert over your king?” He asked instead.

How do you explain the unexplainable? How can you make someone else fathom what is unfathomable to yourself? Stannis sighed, and considered the various reasons he had told himself over the years.

_Because the king was mad._

_Because the king had behaved in an unjust way, flouting all the rules and laws of the realm._

He considered too the reasons he had strenuously rejected over the years.

_Because Robert is still my brother, my blood, despite everything._

_Because the king wanted Robert dead. And he would have wanted Renly dead too._

“Does it matter? Why I chose Robert. I chose blood over loyalty, that’s all there is to it,” Stannis told Renly firmly.

Renly was not satisfied. “The reason matters. The _whys_ are equally as important as the _hows_ , you were the one who told me that.

_And when have you ever listened to me?_

Stannis regarded Renly carefully. “Why?”

“What do you mean, why?” Renly was incredulous. “I’m the one asking the question, remember?”

“Why do you want to know? My reason for choosing Robert. Why does it matter to you, Renly?”

 Renly raised his eyebrows, trying to look nonchalant. “It doesn’t matter to me. Not a whit. I’m just curious.” Stannis did not believe that; Renly’s eyes betrayed him. They were gazing intently at Stannis, probing, searching, penetrating. Stannis’ reason mattered to Renly, mattered a great deal, in fact.  Stannis could not imagine why, however.

“Because it was the right thing to do,” Stannis said finally.

Renly looked skeptical. “That’s it? It was the right thing to do?”

Stannis nodded.

“How did you know it was the right thing to do?” Renly persisted.

“I just knew,” Stannis insisted. He had no wish to recall the sleepless nights, the gnawing doubts, the constant questioning of himself.

Renly was staring out the window. “I wish I could be as certain as you had been. About the right thing to do.”

“What?” Stannis asked sharply. “What are you trying to decide?”

“Nothing,” Renly hastily replied. “Merely a … a philosophical musing, Stannis.”

Stannis snorted. “The philosopher prince. Is that what you are?”

“I’m not a prince,” Renly said, in a curious tone that caught Stannis’ attention.

“A philosopher future king, then. A philosopher heir,” Stannis said, watching Renly’s expression carefully.

“Am I? The future king?” Renly was asking, but so very softly, as if he was merely talking to himself. He changed the subject abruptly before Stannis could reply. “Isn’t that what they used to call Rhaegar Targaryen? The philosopher prince.”

Stannis laughed, a bitter, derisive laugh. “That, and much, much more. He also sang like an angel apparently, bringing tears to the eyes of all who were fortunate enough to hear it.”

Renly was laughing too, but his was a mocking laugh, not a bitter one. “And let’s not forget Rhaegar’s harp.”

“Oh no, we must not forget his precious, precious harp,” Stannis replied. Renly smiled, a genuine smile this time, not a mocking smile or a sardonic smile, and for a moment - a very, very brief moment - Stannis felt like smiling too. The moment passed, however, when he remembered what else Rhaegar Targaryen was. The man who started everything, all the death and destruction, when he took Lyanna Stark by force.

“People said Aerys was mad - and he was, no doubt, only a madman would take pleasure in burning a man alive in his armor - but I have my doubts about Rhaegar’s sanity as well,” Stannis said.

“Why did he do it, do you think? What did he want with Lyanna Stark?” Renly seemed genuinely curious.

“What any brute wants from a woman, I expect.”

“It can’t be _only_ that. He disappeared as well, after he took her. For almost a year, while his father was losing the war, losing his inheritance, losing the throne that was supposed to be his in the future. If what he intended was only rape, why did he disappear?”

Stannis had thought of those questions as well, long and hard, over the years, but had never reached a satisfactory conclusion. He shrugged. “I don’t know.” He motioned for his squire to clear the table from the remnants of his dinner. “Bring some wine for Lord Renly.”

Renly shook his head, and smiled at Bryen Farring. “No, I only want water, Bryen. It _is_ Bryen, isn’t it? Of House Farring?”

“It is, my lord,” Bryen Farring replied eagerly. Even Stannis’ squire was not immune to Renly’s charm.

“Where is your other squire? The son of your onion knight?” Renly asked after Bryen had left the room.

“His name is Ser Davos,” Stannis said sharply. _Why does everyone persist on calling Davos my onion knight, as if he is my personal possession, instead of a knight of the realm?_ “I sent the boy Devan to Dragonstone, to keep Shireen company.”

“Is she fond of him?”

“Yes. They have become … friends, of sort.” His daughter seemed to have a talent for unlikely friendships, Stannis thought. Patchface, Arya Stark, Devan.

Renly quickly lost interest in Shireen. He was saying something about Davos, but Stannis missed the first part.

“- never much liked onions, or salt fish, but I can still remember how delicious they tasted that day. Onion soup, I remember. Onion soup so thin and runny it was almost water. And there was no bread to eat the soup with, so we dunked the salt fish in it instead.”

“We had to conserve the onions, that’s why the soup was so watery,” Stannis said defensively. “There was no telling how much longer the siege would go on.”

Ned Stark would not arrive to lift the siege until two months after Davos had come with his onions and his salt fish.

“I was not criticizing you,” Renly pointed out. “There’s no need to be so defensive, Stannis. I was simply … reminiscing.”

_Why reminisce about the bad times?_ Stannis wondered.

“If there is an extended siege this time, do you think anyone will come to our aid?” Renly asked.

Stannis shook his head firmly. “There will not be a long siege, not here. The Lannisters will come, and we will fight. I expect it will be over in a day or so.” One day that would determine everything.

“Are you afraid?” Renly was not done with his questions.

“Yes,” Stannis replied without thinking, surprising himself as well as his brother.

Renly regarded him cautiously. “Not of dying, I expect. That doesn’t sound like you. What are you afraid of?”

The dead piled up everywhere. The faces pleading with him, begging him for the things he was powerless to give. The fear and frustration on a child’s face.

“Failing,” he replied simply.

Renly nodded, as if he understood. _You don’t. You can’t_ , Stannis thought, but did not say to his brother.

“Was Robert afraid, when he went to war against Aerys?” Renly kept on with his questions.

Stannis closed his eyes, trying to remember. Robert had acted as fearless and brash as always, but he had spent his last night at Storm’s End in the sept, on his knees, praying to the gods. Stannis had not prayed, not to the unworthy gods who had let his mother and father die, but he had stood watch over his older brother that night as Robert prayed fervently.

“Stannis?”

“He was, I expect. Afraid. Not that Robert would ever admit it to anyone,” Stannis finally said.

“Only a fool is never afraid,” Renly said.

Stannis stared at him, shocked. “Father used to say that.”

“I know,” Renly nodded.

“Did Maester Cressen tell you that?”

“No, you did,” Renly said. “Well, you were not telling _me_ , exactly. You told the smuggler that, the day you chopped off his fingers.”

“So I did.” Stannis never knew Renly had been listening. “Do you remember what Davos said, in reply?”

Renly shook his head. “I didn’t hear it, he was speaking too softly for me to overhear.”

“He said, _Your father was a wise man, my lord. Fear is what keeps us safe, fear of death especially._ ”

“And yet he risked his life to bring us those onions,” Renly replied.

“So he did.” Stannis agreed. Their eyes met, Stannis and Renly, and neither could look away for the longest of time. The silence stretched and stretched.

“Renly.”

“Yes?”

He did not want to ask the question, to voice his doubt, to say out loud his suspicion.

“I must go,” Renly stood up abruptly. “It’s late, Margaery must be worried.” He left the room before Stannis could say anything else.

Stannis stood up too, and started walking. He was standing in front of his daughter’s room before he remembered that Shireen was not there, that she was on her way to Dragonstone with Selyse. He had never felt more alone than he did at that moment, he who had always prided himself on never needing anyone else, except himself.

 


	26. The Secret Lives of Men

Blood. So much blood. Blood on his hands. Blood on Renly’s hands.

_Whose blood is it? Mine or his?_

_Does it matter?_

A dagger. Robert’s hunting knife, the one Jon Arryn had given him as a boy. The knife was in Stannis’ hand, not Renly’s.

_Did I …_

_Why?_

And why was the knife in his hand at all? He had given it to Ned Stark, he remembered precisely. This exact dagger. He tried to run his hand through the carvings on the handle to be absolutely certain, but his fingers met only the bite of sharp steel. It turned out he was holding the blade, not the handle of the knife.

_That must mean …_

_Renly_ _?_ _Why?_

But he knew the answer already, knew it even before the question was asked. As he knew, without looking, that the blood was pouring from his chest, not Renly’s.

“Your Grace!” A voice was calling for him, insistently.

_Your_ _Grace. You mock me with that title, while you’re trying to steal my throne. Is waiting too hard? Are you so used to being handed things that are not yours by right you thought you could do the same with the realm? The kingdom is not your plaything, Renly. The crown is not a garment you can put on to parade and preen. You are not ready to be king. Not yet._

“Your Grace!” It was not Renly’s voice calling for him, however. Renly was fading further and further away, impervious to his brother’s distress. Was it Ned’s voice?

_Ned, why did Renly have the knife? Robert’s hunting knife, yours now. Did you give it to him?_

_Do you think he’ll make a better king than I have been? Is that why …_

_Not you too, Ned!_

But it was not Ned’s voice calling for him either. A hand was shaking his shoulder now, persistently. “Your Grace,” the voice repeated, the tone gentler this time. Stannis opened his eyes, and the first thing he saw was the anxious face of Balon Swann of the Kingsguard.

His hands. He had to see them. He brought both hands closer to his eyes. They were clean, spotless, not a drop of blood on them. His eyes wandered through the bed. No knife. He searched under the pillow and blanket. Still nothing.

_The Kingsguard._ _Maybe he has the knife on him. Maybe he was sent by Renly._

But Ser Balon was empty-handed. He was staring at Stannis with no expression on his face at all, the previous anxiety wiped out completely from his countenance. A well-trained Kingsguard, Stannis thought, trained to pretend nothing was amiss, even when the king was behaving in a strange way. What Balon Swann was actually thinking, Stannis could already predict.

“What are you doing in my room? I did not summon you to come in. Your duty is to stand guard outside the door,” Stannis said testily.

Ser Balon flushed. “Forgive me, Your Grace. But I heard … noises, a commotion. I thought Your Grace was in danger, so I came in immediately.”

“You must have seen I am alone and sleeping once you came in. Why didn’t you leave immediately?”

“I thought perhaps … perhaps Your Grace has taken ill, and a maester might be needed.”

“I am not ill!” Stannis replied through gritted teeth. But there _was_ a maester he needed. Cressen. He needed to speak to Maester Cressen.

Stannis was out of bed and walking out of the room so fast, Ser Balon was having trouble catching up. “Who is it you wish to see, Your Grace? I will fetch him myself,” Ser Balon said breathlessly, trying to keep pace with Stannis. Stannis ignored the question and continued walking. He was a few feet away from Cressen’s room when he stopped walking abruptly, standing still in the corridor.

Maester Cressen had been entrusted by Steffon Baratheon for the care of all three of his sons. Robert was dead, but Stannis and Renly were both still alive. He could not put Cressen in a position where the maester would be forced to choose. Stannis or Renly.

_You’re afraid_ , a voice whispered in his head. _Afraid that he will choose Renly over you._

_Nonsense!_ He countered obstinately.

_Admit it_ , the voice persisted _. Deep down you’re afraid that like everyone else in the world, Cressen prefers your brother._

_But the maester had chosen me, and Dragonstone, when he could have stayed at Storm’s End with Renly._

_Only because of pity._ _If he chooses you over Renly, it is only because he knows he will be the only one, only because he knows that no one else will do so._

The argument raged in his head. Stannis changed his mind a few times, walking back and forth between his bedchamber and the maester’s room. Balon Swann followed him silently, saying nothing, except to whisper something to a palace guard, who left quickly.

If only Davos were here. But no, he had no right to wish for Davos’ counsel, he who had led Davos and his sons to their terrible fate. Ned. He would have to ask Ned. Was his suspicion of Renly completely unfounded? Stannis started walking more quickly.

“Your Grace, are you going outside?” Balon Swann finally spoke. Stannis merely glared at him in reply.

“You are not wearing a cloak, and it is cold outside,” Ser Balon continued. “Would you like me to fetch your cloak for you?”

A cloak. Stannis almost laughed. _What does it matter?_

“You never feel the cold, brother, because you have ice flowing in your veins, not blood,” Renly had said to him once, when things were a lot more contentious between them. He thought things had been better between them, somewhat less contentious than the way it had always been. Even if they did not share the warmth of other brotherly relationships, at least they had reached some sort of understanding. Or so Stannis had thought, for a little while. But the gods must be laughing at him now, at his gullibility and utter naivety.

It would have troubled him a lot less, the betrayal he suspected Renly was contemplating, if things had been the way they always were between him and Renly, before … certain conversations. Before certain revelations were shared.

_We spoke like brothers ought to. Did that not mean anything to you, Renly? Nothing at all?_

No, the gods were not only laughing at him. They were also celebrating. Celebrating how they had made an utter fool out of him, mocking him all the way. _All the things you have always wished for, have it, have it for a little while, only for them to be cruelly snatched away again._

The pain of losing something fervently wished for was far, far worse than the pain of never having it in the first place, Stannis finally grasped, a little too late. Even if they were things he had never admitted he wanted, even to himself.

But how could the gods he had ceased to believe still had power over him? He had judged them unworthy of his worship a long, long time ago, the day Windproud sank. The day the sea had taken his mother and father.

Perhaps the gods had judged him too. Judged him as being unworthy of anything.

_That is nothing new. The world has passed that judgment on me long before the gods._

Stannis laughed. A long, harsh, bitter, laugh. Ser Balon was startled, but pretended not to be, his eyes resolutely avoiding looking at Stannis.

Barristan Selmy was making his way with haste towards them, followed by the palace guard Balon Swann was whispering to earlier. “Go fetch a cloak for His Grace,” he quickly gave the order to Balon Swann. He turned to Stannis and said, “Your Grace, who do you want to see at this hour? I can send a guard to fetch them.”

“It’s quicker if I go there myself,” Stannis replied.

“And where is _there_ , Your Grace?”

Why was the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard speaking to him like he was an errant child? Stannis resented Ser Barristan’s tone, resented it very much. Ser Barristan had served Robert loyally, he knew. But Ser Barristan had also served the Mad King loyally before that. If Renly were to be king, Stannis was certain Ser Barristan would serve him loyally too.

The question was, would Ser Barristan take active steps to put Renly on the throne? And what about the other members of the Kingsguard? Stannis had sent two of them to Dragonstone to guard Selyse and Shireen. Could those two be trusted?

_Dale Seaworth is there_ , Stannis recalled with some relief. Davos’ eldest son. And Ser Axell, Selyse’s own uncle.

Barristan Selmy was repeating his question. “I’m going to see my Hand, Ser Barristan,” Stannis finally replied, impatient. “Is that a problem?”

Ser Barristan was shaking his head, his expression inscrutable. “No, Your Grace. Not at all. But we should wait until Ser Balon comes back with your cloak. It will not do if you were to catch a chill, especially now.” He paused. “Then I would have failed in my duty to protect you, Your Grace.”

“And you have always done your duty, haven’t you, Ser Barristan?”

“I try to, Your Grace,” Barristan Selmy replied, his expression still inscrutable.

“Your duty to the rightful king, or to whoever happens to be sitting on the throne?” Stannis asked, his voice full of scorn.

Ser Barristan did not reply. Balon Swann was back with Stannis’ cloak, which he handed over to the Lord Commander. He was staring at Stannis, but Ser Barristan whispered something to him, and he quickly went away.

“Your Grace, if you still insist on going to Tower of the Hand, will you wear the cloak, at least?” He said, holding out the cloak to Stannis. “For my sake, and my peace of mind,” he added, his tone almost pleading. Ser Barristan’s hand grazed Stannis’ own as he handed over the cloak, and he held Stannis’ hand for a little while before letting go.

Stannis was suddenly fully and completely aware, as if he was only just awakened from a dream. He swiftly realized what it must look like. The king, wandering the palace at night, without his cloak, insisting on going outside. Even Robert in his drunken days probably had not gone as far as that. Stannis could already imagine the tongues wagging. The Mad King’s name would be invoked.

Stannis was cursing himself, his lapse in judgment, his weakness, his dependence on others. _I do not need them, Cressen or Davos or Ned. I can decide for myself._

He did not need Ser Barristan either, he told himself, but there were questions he needed to ask the Lord Commander. Before he decided on a course of action.

“I am going back to my room,” he said resolutely to Barristan Selmy.

“Would you like me to send for Lord Stark, Your Grace?”

“Yes. But first, I need answers to a few questions. From you, Ser Barristan.”

They spoke for almost an hour, Stannis and Barristan Selmy. Ned was already waiting outside Stannis’ bedchamber by the time Stannis and Ser Barristan were finished.

“I’m sorry about the lateness of the hour,” Stannis said gruffly to Ned.

“It is my duty to attend to you at any time of the day, Your Grace,” Ned said solemnly. “Is it … is it about the matter you wanted me to investigate? I’m afraid I have yet to receive firm confirmation. There _was_ indeed a storm that _could_ have delayed Lord Redwyne’s fleet from arriving in time to assist Ser Davos’ fleet, but the magnitude of the storm, and how long it would have delayed Lord Redwyne’s fleet, are still matters in dispute.”

Stannis nodded. “As I expected. They would not have made it too obvious.”

Ned looked extremely puzzled. “But why? I can’t believe that Lord Tyrell is planning to cast his lot with the Lannisters. Not after his daughter has married Lord Renly, the heir to the throne. It is too late for him to change side now, surely?”

Stannis shook his head. “He is not changing side. He is merely trying to redefine what “our” side means, in a way that will be most advantageous for his daughter, for himself, and for his House.”

Realization dawned on Ned. “But Renly … would he –“

“I don’t know! I don’t know what Renly will do!” Stannis was distraught to realize that he had lost his hard-fought composure. He closed his eyes. When he opened them again, Ned was holding out a goblet of lemon water to him. Stannis took it, and said, “If this is Robert standing before you, would you be handing him a goblet of wine instead?”

“Robert never needed me for that,” Ned said sadly. “He could drink to oblivion all on his own.”

“Oblivion.” Stannis paused, a long pause finally broken by Ned’s cough. “I never saw the attraction of that,” Stannis continued. “But now …”

“You are not Robert,” Ned said insistently.

“No,” Stannis replied. “And I am not Renly either.”

“And all the better for it,” Ned said softly.

Stannis remembered his dream. And the knife. Robert’s hunting knife, the one he had given to Ned. He had suspected even Ned Stark. Looking at Ned now, he thought of how ridiculous his suspicion seemed now.

_Who’s to say I am not wrong about Renly too?_

But the matter of the storm and Lord Redwyne’s fleet, combined with the strange conversation he had with Renly, and the news imparted to Stannis by Ser Barristan …

“I had a very interesting conversation with Renly,” Stannis said to Ned.

“Oh?”

Stannis recounted the conversation. Ned’s face was calm throughout, his expression composed. But Stannis knew he was thinking the same thing that Stannis was thinking.

“So you think –“ Ned started to say.

“Yes,” Stannis interrupted. “What do you think?”

Ned sighed. “It seems to me that Renly has not quite made up his mind. About which path to take. Hence … all the questions.”

Stannis bristled. “Does he take me for a fool? Asking me all those questions and expecting me not to suspect anything?”  

“Renly is not the wisest and most careful of men,” Ned reminded him. “What will you do?” He asked, after some hesitation.

“What _can_ I do? They have not made any direct or open move, nothing I can put them on trial for.”

“But if you wait –“

“Then they might succeed. I know, Ned.” Stannis let out another bitter laugh. “Perhaps it will not be so bad, Renly as king. The realm might welcome it. Even the Lannisters might bow down to my brother’s ample charm and agree to give up Joffrey’s claim to the throne.”

“If Renly has not yet decided, then perhaps you could still convince him. Speak with him, make your case,” Ned said, imploringly.

_Plead with him, you mean? Beg my little brother not to betray me. Why should I?_

Stannis snorted. “I doubt I can convince Renly of anything.”

“But Your Grace –“

“I am sending Renly and Margaery to Dragonstone,” Stannis interrupted, his tone firm and resolute. “Renly is my heir, he must be well-protected.”

_The kind of protection only possible through locked doors and absolutely no communication with anyone_ , he added silently.

 


	27. Light in the Dark

The look on Ned Stark’s face as he listened to Stannis’ command was like a slap on the face to Stannis. Ned was not a man well-versed in hiding his true feelings. Doubt. Doubt and suspicion were painted clearly in his features.

_He has good reasons to doubt you, does he not?_ Stannis ignored the aggravating voice in his head.

“For … for Renly’s safety?” Ned asked, sounding very, very doubtful.

“Why? Do you doubt me?” Stannis asked sharply. “Renly is heir-presumptive to the throne, until Selyse finally gives me a son. It is a sensible measure, to protect the heir to the throne.”

“I thought you and Renly had agreed that he should be here as well, fighting by your side,” Ned replied carefully.

“What does my brother know about fighting?” Stannis scoffed. “He has never even killed a man, let alone commanded them in battle. Oh, he injured the son of some lord or other during a tourney once, and had nightmares about it for days after.”

Yet this was the man Mace Tyrell could not wait to put on the throne. Then again, Mace Tyrell would put a fool like Patchface on the throne if that meant his daughter could be queen, Stannis thought.

“Your Grace, you must speak with your brother,” Ned said.

“Like you spoke with Cersei Lannister, warning her in advance so they could get away?” Stannis retorted.

Ned’s face flushed. To his credit, he did not look away or try to avert Stannis’ gaze. With his own eyes fixed on Stannis, looking at him steadily, Ned replied in an even tone, “If you are sending Renly and Lady Margaery to Dragonstone to protect them, why are you worried that they would get away if you let them know of the fact beforehand?”

Stannis’ face was red with fury. “Enough!” He shouted. “You are my Hand, it is your duty to carry out my command.” He turned around and walked to the window, unwilling to see the doubting face of his Hand for much longer.

Ned crossed the room to follow Stannis, and stood silently by his side. After a while, Ned spoke. “Your Grace, when you honored me with the appointment as your Hand, you told me that you needed someone who would be willing to tell you the truth, always. Even when the truth is bitter and unpleasant.”

“I do not need to be reminded of my own words, Lord Stark,” Stannis snapped with irritation. “And that was not what I said. _Especially_. I said - _especially_ when the truth is bitter and unpleasant.”

For some unfathomable reason that defied Stannis’ understanding, Ned was smiling. “So you did. You said _especially_ , not _even_. Forgive me, Your Grace, my recollection is not as accurate as yours.” He paused, the smile vanishing from his face. “If you seize Renly and Lady Margaery by force and send them to Dragonstone, you will be giving Mace Tyrell the pretext he has been looking for,” Ned said insistently. He searched Stannis’ face. “You _know_ that I am right.”

Stannis looked away, not about to admit anything.

“The gods punish us by granting us our heart’s desire,” Stannis muttered under his breath. _And then cruelly snatching it away,_ he added silently.

“Your Grace?”

“But I never asked for any of it. Never wanted it, never yearned for it.”

_If you say a thing to yourself often enough, how soon will you start believing it? Will you ever start believing it?_

“Of course not. You never had any design on the throne at all,” Ned replied with firm conviction. “You were only doing your duty, as I was.”

But Stannis was not thinking of the throne at all. It was his brothers’ features haunting his thoughts. Both of them. The dead brother, and the one still living.

“I never wanted anything from either of them. Not respect, not recognition,” Stannis said, not to Ned, but to no one in particular. “And certainly not _love_ ,” he scoffed. “But for a moment, just a moment, I thought …”

Ned waited. He asked no question. He did not look perplexed at the sudden turn in the conversation, as if he knew exactly who Stannis was referring to when he said “ _either of them._ ”

“I was a _fool_ to ever think that,” Stannis said contemptuously. Contempt reserved most of all for himself.

“Maybe not,” Ned replied. “Why else would Renly hesitate in making his move?”

Ned was wrong, Stannis was coonvinced. Ned Stark was a good man who could not always see the bad in others.

“Perhaps Renly was thinking the same thing you had been thinking,” Ned continued.

Stannis shut his ears and mind to Ned’s words. He did not have the luxury of believing that, not even for one moment.

“Talk to him,” Ned implored.

But Stannis was as hard and immovable as a boulder. He shook his head. “I have decided.”

“Then speak to Maester Cressen first, at least,” Ned said despairingly.

Stannis glanced at Ned with suspicion. “Cressen? Why? You don’t think Renly would have confided his plan to Cressen, do you?”

“No, but Maester Cressen was desperate to speak to you, Your Grace. He was waiting outside with me while you were with Ser Barristan. I asked the guard to escort him back to his room because he was looking ill. I promise the maester that I would let you know, that he wished to speak to you.”

“I’ll speak with him tomorrow. You can leave now,” Stannis said, dismissing his Hand.

“Tonight, Your Grace. Maester Cressen was most insistent.” Ned was adamant.

The maester was most certainly staying awake waiting for Stannis. _You foolish old man_ , Stannis thought _. I should have forced you aboard that ship sailing to Dragonstone myself._

Balon Swann was back on guard duty outside Stannis’ door. He looked down when Stannis came out, looking guilty. “Did Ser Barristan order you to summon him, or was that completely your own doing?” Stannis barked out the question.

“I … Your Grace … in certain circumstances … “

“Speak quickly, ser!”

“Ser Barristan’s standing order is that we should always summon him, if we do not know how to deal with a … a _situation_ ,” Balon Swann replied.

“What was there to _deal_ with? I wanted to go somewhere, it is your duty to follow me, to stand guard,” Stannis said. “I would hardly call that a _situation_ ,” Stannis scoffed.

“Perhaps I misjudged the situation, Your Grace,” Ser Balon said evenly. “I apologize for that.” But his eyes were saying something else. _I did the right thing, and you know that as well._  

“You were only trying to do your duty. I will not fault a man for that,” Stannis said, meeting his gaze unflinchingly. “I am going to Maester Cressen’s room,” Stannis announced.

Ser Balon followed Stannis silently to the maester’s room. He was about to open the door when Stannis stopped him. “Knock first. He could be sleeping.”

Maester Cressen was not sleeping. “Yes? Who is it?” He asked from behind the closed door, before Balon Swann could knock. Cressen must have heard their footsteps approaching his room. Waiting for the footsteps, perhaps.

“Wait here,” Stannis told Ser Balon, while he opened the door and entered the dark room. The candles had been put out, the only light in the room was coming through the window. It was almost dawn, to Stannis’ surprise.

He saw the trembling hands and the deeply-lined face, and changed his mind. _He’s too old._ _He deserves a rest. And peace of mind._

“I will not disturb your sleep,” Stannis said brusquely, about to turn and leave the room.

“I was not sleeping. Sleep does not come easily to me these days,” Cressen replied, his voice trembling. “What is troubling you, Your Grace?”

“Nothing is troubling me,” Stannis replied, offended. “You were the one who wanted to speak to me, maester. What is so important that it could not wait until morning?”

The maester looked confused, staring at Stannis as if he did not understand the question.

“Isn’t that what you told Ned Stark? That you had to speak to me, tonight?” Stannis asked, impatient.

Cressen nodded vigorously. “Yes, yes, of course. Yes, I did say that. Forgive me, Your Grace, my memory is not what it used to be. An old man’s poor memory.”

“Well, what it is? The urgent matter that could not wait until tomorrow? Don’t tell me you have forgotten that as well?”

Maester Cressen squinted his eyes and furrowed his brows in concentration. “It will come to me,” he said apologetically. “Forgive me, Your Grace, I -“

_Damn you Ned!_ And Cressen too. The old man was playing his part beautifully. “I have made my decision, like I told Ned,” Stannis said, furious.

“Your lord father used to come to my room late at night, ostensibly to talk about how you and Robert were getting on with your lessons,” Cressen replied, as if he had not heard Stannis’ angry pronouncement.

Stannis was about explode with anger, when a word caught his attention. “Ostensibly? What did he actually want to talk about, my father?” He asked Cressen, curious, despite himself.

“About your future, you and your brothers. He worried so,” Cressen replied.

“Why? Why was he worried at all? Father could not have foreseen the rebellion. As far as he knew, Robert would grow up to be lord of Storm’s End, and Renly and I perhaps defending holdfasts for Robert.”

Steffon Baratheon could not have foreseen the mess his sons would land themselves in.

_The chaos we made of our lives._

“He was worried about many things. Whether Robert was too trusting and gullible. Whether you were too untrusting and suspicious of others. Whether Renly would feel isolated from his much older brothers.”

The maester was about to lit a candle, but Stannis stopped him. He preferred the darkness.

“And what did you tell him?” Stannis asked.

“I told him that nothing is set in stone. Especially when it comes to the young. Change is not impossible, with wise words and sound advice and firm guidance.”

Stannis did not think Cressen could see the extremely skeptical expression on his face, but apparently Cessen could. “You don’t agree, Your Grace?”

“You have too much confidence in the power of wise words and sound advice, Maester. You always have. I sat on Robert’s council for fifteen years trying to give him sound advice. Much good that did me, or the realm,” Stannis replied harshly.

 “He took your advice in the end, when it really mattered,” Cressen said, his hand inches away from Stannis’ own. But he would not touch it. That was not their way, Stannis and Cressen.

“I was always loyal to Robert. I forsook my duty to my king, for my brother, my blood. Yet it seemed beyond Renly to do the same for his only remaining brother.”

Cressen sighed. “Lord Renly is still a boy, in many ways. He needs guidance. But not,” Cressen was looking at Stannis meaningfully, “ _harsh_ guidance. It is not in him to yield to harshness and severity.”

“Renly is the way he is today _exactly_ because no one was willing to be harsh and severe with him,” Stannis protested, his voice rising.

To Stannis’ surprise, Cressen nodded in agreement. “Yes, Lord Renly was perhaps indulged far too much, growing up. Especially after he was made lord of Storm’s End. A boy of only eight at the time. And the one person who had been willing to be severe with him before, for his own good, suddenly abandoning him completely, refusing to even set foot at Storm’s End again.”

“Are you blaming _me_ , Maester?” Stannis asked, incredulous.

“He was only a boy. He did not understand why you were so furious with him, why you would not visit him at Storm’s End at all. What does a boy of eight understand of inheritance and laws? What does he know about what should be whose by right? He only knows that he misses his brother.”

“He had Robert. Robert who loved him so much he gave Renly what should have been mine.”

Robert who had never really been around. Robert who had another home and another family, to replace the one torn asunder when Steffon Baratheon and his lady wife lost their lives.

It was only Stannis and Renly, at Storm’s End. Until it wasn’t.  

“Even if I was somehow partly to blame, then what? Should I let Renly steal the throne, to make up for my supposed sins?” Stannis asked, his voice full of derision.

“Your Grace –“

“He would have it anyway, in the end!” Stannis shouted. “Why couldn’t he wait? Spend the time learning, maturing, preparing.”

“Why couldn’t he wait?” Stannis asked the question again, despairingly rather than with anger this time. Cressen had no answer to give.

Stannis asked Renly that same question, the next morning.

_I am talking to him, Ned. That was your counsel, wasn’t it?_

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Renly replied, his eyes shifting around the room, looking at everything except Stannis.

“Don’t you?”

“No, I don’t,” Renly insisted. “You’re becoming more paranoid by the day, Stannis.”

_With good reasons._

“We had an understanding, I thought,” Stannis said.

Renly raised his eyebrows. “About?”

Everything. Nothing. The little things. The big things. What it meant to be brothers. What it meant to learn to despise each other a little less, each day. What it meant to learn to –

No, he would not use that word. Never.

It was not anything he could explain to Renly, not without feeling like he was making a complete and utter fool of himself. So Stannis seized on the candles instead, the candles ornately carved with crowned stags and turtles that Renly had given him as a gift. “ _As a token of my gratitude, for agreeing to my marriage to Margaery,_ ” Renly had told him at the time.

“I thought that meant something.”

Renly scoffed. “Obviously that meant a lot to you, my gift. I have never seen it burning in your bedchamber, or even your study. Where are they? Have you thrown them away, like unwanted thrash?”

The candles were too grand, too ostentatious. Renly’s taste, but not Stannis. He had never used it, true, but he had kept them. Kept them because they were from his brother. Renly had the same candles burning in his own bedchamber; Stannis had seen them.

Shireen had seen the unused candles in Stannis’ room, and asked for them. She had loved the carvings of the little turtles surrounding the crowned stag. “The turtle is for House Estermont, isn’t it Father? For your lady mother.”

“I gave them to Shireen,” Stannis replied to Renly. “She liked the turtle carvings.

“Well, I’m glad _somebody_ knows how to appreciate a gift,” Renly snickered.

Why were they arguing about candles, when they should be discussing what really mattered? _“The little things matter too,”_ his mother had told Stannis once. _“Little things accumulate into something bigger over time. And sometimes, the little things serve as an indication, a symbol of what is truly wrong, what is at the heart of the matter.”_

Distrust. Suspicion. There will always be that, between Stannis and Renly.

“Your Grace –“

“Not now, Bryen,” Stannis snapped. “I told you we are not to be disturbed.”

Bryen Farring did not shrink or cower in fear, like he usually would. “It can’t wait, Your Grace. Maester Cressen said I am to let you know right away.”

“Well, what is it?”

“Maester Cressen has had a letter from Dragonstone. From Maester Pylos.”

“And?”

“Princess Shireen has fallen ill, Your Grace. She was feeling unwell during the journey, but her condition worsened after they arrived at Dragonstone.”

Cressen had promised. Once. Only once. Greyscale could only strike a person once in their lifetime. If they survived, they would never suffer another bout of the same disease.

 “Maester Pylos could not determine the cause of her illness, Your Grace. He … he does not know how to treat the princess,” Bryen continued. “Maester Cressen is consulting with the Grand Maester and  –“

_You promised! She would live, you said._ Stannis had believed the maester then, had believed Cressen despite himself. Despite his doubts. Despite his certainties. Despite his absolute conviction that the world would always work against him, that nothing would ever turn out in his favor.

He ran, ran to find Cressen. Renly followed close behind.

 


	28. The Child

“The child is very ill, my lord.” It was Cressen’s voice, always his voice, time and time again.

_Which child?_

___________________

 

“Careful with his head, Stannis!”

“I can hold a child without dropping it, Robert.”

“ _It_?” Robert said, incredulous. “He’s a boy, not an  _it_.”

Exasperated, Stannis started, “I only meant –“

Robert interrupted. “He looks just like me, doesn’t he, Father?”

Stannis studied the infant in his arms intently. “He looks just like any other newborn,” he pronounced, after careful inspection.

“He has the Baratheon blue eyes,” Steffon said.

“What will you name him, Father?” Robert asked.

“Your mother was certain she was carrying a girl this time. We had even agreed on a name for your sister. Alas, we must pick another name now, for your little brother.”

“May I choose his name?” Robert asked eagerly. “Renly,” he declared, before Steffon had given his reply. “Renly Baratheon. Is that not a glorious name? Then my brother and I will have the same initials.”

“Why should our brother care if he has the same initial as yours?” Stannis scoffed, but deep down, he was secretly relieved. He had been expecting Robert to insist on Eddard, in honor of Ned Stark. The last thing he needed was for  _that_ name to be bandied about in Storm’s End. Robert did it often enough in his letters and on his visits home.

“Renly,” Steffon mused. Kissing his newborn’s son on the brow, he said, “Do you like that name, my little one?” The baby made a gurgling noise.

“He likes that name,” Robert declared. “See how he laughs so.”

Stannis was about to say that it was not a laugh, only the incomprehensible noises that babies were prone to make, but Steffon forestalled the argument between the two brothers by saying, “Renly it is, then.”

It was only after his mother and father were dead that Stannis thought to wonder about that daughter who never was, and the name they had once chosen for her.

Cressen knew. “Shireen,” he told Stannis. “They would have named the child Shireen, if it had been a girl. Lady Cassana embroidered scarves and mittens with that name.” Hesitating, Cressen finally asked, “Would you like to see them? They are kept in your lady mother’s chest of drawers still.”

“No,” Stannis declined firmly.

___________________

 

“Our daughter has your eyes, husband,” Selyse had written to Stannis in King’s Landing. “Her eyes are of a paler shade of blue than your own, it is true, but I am certain they will grow darker as she grows older.”

“What kind of a father are you, that you would miss the birth of your first child?” Robert had asked, incredulous.

“The kind who is too busy doing his duty as your Master of Ships, fortifying your fleet against the Greyjoy threat,” Stannis retorted. The Greyjoys were primarily a naval power, Stannis had been trying his hardest to convince Robert. They must first be defeated at sea, before they can be defeated on dry land.

And what did Robert know about being present for his first child’s birth in any case, Stannis grumbled. Robert left the Red Keep to hunt boars the moment Cersei took to her childbed for Joffrey’s birth. 

“Name her Shireen,” Stannis wrote, in reply to Selyse’s query about their daughter’s name. He made no mention about the origin of that name, how it had come about in the first place.

“Shireen is a beautiful name,” Selyse wrote back. “When the gods finally see fit to bless us with a son, we shall call him Steffon, after your lord father. It will be a perfect fit with Stannis, Selyse and Shireen.” She made no mention about the origin of babies, sons or otherwise, and how any child was impossible to come about when the husband and wife were miles and leagues away, and apart, rarely sharing a bed.

___________________

 

“The child is very ill, my lord.”

“You assured me not two days ago that he is only teething, that it is common for a babe to take ill with a slight fever at such a time.”

“It is not common for the fever to be this high, or to last this long,” Cressen said, brows furrowing, worry and anxiety etched deeply on his face.

 _What do you expect me to do? You’re the maester!_ But Stannis was the brother, the flesh and blood, the guardian of the orphan child whose oldest brother was at the Eyrie, ‘ _learning how to be a good lord_ ,’ as Robert had put it. Gallivanting and getting into scrapes, more likely, Stannis thought, based on the boastful content of Robert’s letters.

“Should I write to Lord Robert?” Cressen asked.

“I will write to Robert myself,” Stannis replied. Not that it would do any good. “Can you do nothing else for Renly? Surely there  _must_  be more you can do,” he urged the maester, finally betraying his own anxiety.

“I have done all I can, my lord. The rest is up to –“

 _Do not say it_ , Stannis willed, silently.  _Do not say the Mother’s mercy, or the Father’s –_

“- the rest is up to the gods,” Cressen continued, meeting Stannis’ furious glare with a look full of compassion. Compassion, but not understanding; for the maester had failed to understand that Stannis’ fury at the gods was not something that was likely to fade with the passage of time, with the subsiding of his grief.    

“I will not have it! Your skills, your learning and your potions will save Renly.  _You_  will save my brother, Maester. You will not leave it to any  _god_.” 

“My lord –“

“Any god monstrous enough to drown a father and a mother while their sons stood watching would be more than willing to snatch the life of an innocent child, only months after he was orphaned.”

When Stannis visited the nursery later that day, he found the wet nurse rocking Renly to sleep in her arms, singing softly under her breath.  

“I know that song,” Stannis said, startled to recognize the words.

Her voice low, so as not to disturb the sleeping child, the nurse replied, “You would, my lord. My mother used to sing it to her own children, and to all the babes she nursed.”

“You’re Dalla’s daughter?” Stannis recalled a plump woman with long brown hair, and the smell of freshly-baked bread. Dalla’s husband had been a baker. There were many children, most of them daughters.

“I am, my lord.”

“What is your name?”

She hesitated, looking uneasy. Stannis frowned. Surely it was not such a hard question to answer, your own name? His mother had engaged this woman to be Renly’s wet nurse, so Lady Cassana must have found her trustworthy. And yet, why was she hesitating to tell Stannis her name?

“What is your name?” Stannis repeated the question, his tone harsher this time.

Finally lifting her eyes to meet Stannis’ gaze, she replied, “Cassana, my lord. My mother named me after your kind and gracious lady mother. But I am called Cass.”

Cassana. Of course.  _To curry favor, no doubt_ , Stannis scoffed. He was learning how the game was played, from the highest of lords to the lowest of the smallfolks. 

 “It was not done to flatter or to curry favor, my lord,” Cass protested, even though Stannis had not spoken the words aloud.

_Your face tells all, Stannis. You must learn not to show your disdain and your contempt so openly and so clearly._

_Too late now, Mother. I am what I am, and you are not here to show me otherwise._

“Lady Cassana was very kind and generous to our family,” Cass continued. “My mother was wet nurse to you and Lord Robert both, after she gave birth to her youngest, my only brother. Anything that was given you and Lord Robert – food, drink, potion, tonic – Lady Cassana made sure that my brother was given them too. And when my brother took very ill a few years later, Lady Cassana sent Maester Cressen to treat him, even though my mother was no longer in her service by then.”  

“Did he live, your brother?”

“Oh yes, my lord. Maester Cressen’s medicine made him better.” Her eyes gazing at the child in her arms, Cass said, her voice soft, “Your brother will be better too, soon. I know it.”

“No one knows. Even the maester doesn’t,” Stannis said, bitterly.

“His fever is down already. See for yourself.”

Renly’s forehead was cool to the touch, Stannis confirmed. The look of relief on his face was unmistakable. “Would you like to hold him, my lord?” Cass asked. Then, sensing Stannis’ hesitation, she said, “You will not break him, you know.”

“I have held him in my arms before,” Stannis protested. Not since their mother and father died, though. He had not picked up the child since that day. The eyes held him back, every time. Those blue eyes on that guileless face in the cradle, already asking questions Renly would not be able to articulate for a few years more, at least. Questions Stannis would not know how to answer, when the time came, no matter how much time he had to prepare for them.

___________________

 

Gazing intently at the child he was cradling in his arms, Stannis recognized the square jutting jaw Shireen had inherited from her father, and the Florent ears she had inherited from her mother, features which would only become more prominent as she grew older. The child was born already possessing of unfortunate features deemed not pleasing in the eyes of many, even before the greyscale added its own brand of disfigurement.   

She lived; that was all that mattered, he knew.

Her life would not be an easy one, he knew that all too well.

Her eyes opened, startling Stannis. He waited for her to cry, but she stayed quiet. The eyes closed again. She slept the strangely peaceful sleep of a child who had escaped death, narrowly. He brought his head down closer to her scarred cheek, staring at the stiff flesh and the cracked, flaking skin. Holding his breath, he touched her cheek with his palm.

Memory flashed. The cold, stony feel of his daughter’s cheek reminded him of something else.

His hand on his mother’s cheek, after she was drowned.

But that was only a dream. In waking life, Cassana’s body had been too decomposed when it was finally washed ashore for her sons to be allowed to touch her, or even to see her.

 _This_  was not a dream. This was his daughter, his living daughter, still alive, if not altogether well.

“The flesh is dead,” Cressen had told  Stannis and Selyse, referring to the grey mottled skin running from Shireen’s cheek down to her neck. “She will not feel any pain there,” Cressen continued, trying to reassure the anxious parents.

“She will not feel anything there,” Selyse had retorted in reply, not soothed by Cressen’s attempt at comfort and reassurance. “Not our touch, our kiss, not anything. She will feel nothing there!”

“You must touch her on the other cheek, where she can feel it, and know that she is loved,” Selyse said now, her voice calmer. How long had she been watching him? His wife moved so quietly and stealthily though the castle like a ghostly presence, since their daughter’s illness. Bending down, Selyse kissed Shireen on her brow, her nose, and finally her cheek – the side with the living flesh, where she could still feel.

___________________

 

“I won’t eat that! I won’t!” Renly shouted, folding his hands over his chest.     

“You must eat, Renly,” Stannis insisted. Maester Cressen, great uncle Harbert, his nurse, the cook, the maids, all had failed to convince the boy to eat.

“It’s disgusting! I am not going to eat rats. They are dirty, disgusting animals scurrying around in dark corners eating dirty and disgusting things.” He paused, before inspiration struck. “Babies,” he declared. “They eat babies, that’s what rats do.”

You could fault Renly for many things, but lack of imagination was not one of them. He could spin an elaborate and colorful yarn from almost anything, it seemed.

“Rats don’t eat babies. And babies are not dirty and disgusting. You were a baby once,” Stannis pointed out.

This piece of logic failed to move the boy.

“You will die if you don’t eat,” Stannis warned, alarmed, counting the ribs beneath Renly’s nightshirt. 

“I don’t care! You can feed me to the rats when I am dead. Then you will have bigger and fatter rats to eat. Or even better, you can eat  _me_  and forget about the rats altogether. I must taste a lot better than those disgusting rats. You can make me into a stew, with onions. Only we don’t have any onion in the kitchen, but I suppose turnips might do, if we have that. Or -”

Stannis slapped him. Renly was too stunned to cry, at first. No one had ever laid a hand on him before. He stared at Stannis, his eyes round and large, tears pooling in his shining eyes.

“Don’t you ever talk like that again!”

Renly wailed.

“You are  _not_  going to die. Do you hear me? You will eat this soup even if I have to pry your mouth open with my bare hands.”

Renly wailed even louder. “I want Robert!” He shouted, between hitching sobs.

“Robert is not here.”

“I hate you!”

“You can hate me all you want, but you will still eat this soup. Now open your mouth,” Stannis ordered.

“I want to die,” Renly sobbed. He was trying to shout, but he was clearly tiring, and his voice came out thin and reedy. “I want to die and go live with Mother and Father and not be hungry all the time, or eat horrible things and watch my kittens and my ponies be killed.”

“Enough, Renly,“ Stannis warned.

“You made me eat Thunderbolt!” That was the worst of Stannis’ sins, the accusing look on Renly’s face seemed to be saying. 

“We slaughtered many horses that day, my own horse among them, not just your pony. We have to feed the people in the castle, Renly, or they will die. And you must eat even if you dislike the food, or you will die. Do you understand that?”

“What happens when the rats are all gone?” Renly asked.

Stannis said nothing. They had eaten all the other animals within the castle walls. The horses were all gone; so were the dogs and the cats. Robert was far away fighting his battles, and Stannis had made a solemn promise to his older brother that he would hold Storm’s End, no matter what.

“Stannis?” Renly called out, his voice small, a scared, hungry little boy too exhausted to pretend to be anything else at the moment. “I don’t  _really_  want to die,” he confessed. “Mother and Father might not even know me, if I go to them now. Not like you and Robert and Maester Cressen and everyone here know me. I was a little baby when Mother and Father went away. They might be … confused. Who is this boy? Why is he so tall?”

 _They will not be confused_ , Stannis almost snapped.  _They cannot feel anything, think anything, do anything, be anywhere, because they are dead_.  _It is not a place you can visit, death._ But looking at his brother’s tear-stained face, he only said, “You are not going to die. I won’t let you.”

“If I eat that horrible soup, do you promise I will live?”

Stannis only nodded, not saying a word, as if that made the lie more excusable.  _You will live another day, that is all that matters for now._  He handed the bowl with the soup to Renly, who spied the bits of meat floating in it with distaste unmistakable in his eyes. Renly slurped a spoonful of the broth, but avoided the meat like a plague. He could not hope to survive on broth alone.

“You must eat the meat, Renly,” Stannis said.

“Not a rat, not a rat, not a rat,” Renly repeated, over and over again. It was a game of his that Stannis very much disapproved, in normal circumstances - this play-acting, this pretending that a thing was not what it really was, but something entirely different, something that existed only in Renly’s imagination.  _I am a rain god, I am a king, I am a dragon_ , anything but what he really was, a motherless and fatherless boy, lonely and often scared.

But this, after all, was _far_  from normal circumstances.  

“That is seagull meat,” Stannis said, willing Renly to take a bite.

“Why seagull?” Renly asked.

“Our lady mother craved seagull, when she was carrying you in her belly. She would eat no other meat. Father shot down the seagulls himself.”

Renly took a bite. “This seagull meat is  _delicious_ ,” he declared, not quite smiling.

___________________

 

“Who gave you those candles, Father?”

A boy who loved to pretend. A man who was still a boy, in many ways. A brother who was loved, despite all appearances to the contrary.

___________________

“It was never meant for Shireen.”

“It was meant for me. Because you want to be king, now.”

“It was never meant to kill. I am not a kinslayer!”

“Then what is your scheme? To make me so gravely ill that you can rule the realm as Regent?”

“No, only to ensure that you could not father any more children. That you could not produce a son; that is the only thing that matters, truly. Why should we wish to harm Shireen? A daughter will not inherit the Iron Throne before a brother, that is the law. And everyone knows what a stickler for the law you are, Stannis. You will not bend the law even for your own daughter’s sake, not if you believe that I mean to stay loyal to you.”

“ _We_? Tell me the names of the others.”

“Does it matter? You were the one who gave the candles to Shireen.”

“Don’t you dare turn this into  _my_  doing!”

“ _You_  gave the candles to Shireen. I would not have harmed your daughter.”

“Why should I believe you? You have no great love for her, for your own niece. You mock her often enough, behind my back. Do not think me so ignorant, Renly.”

“You cannot distinguish mockery from actual harm, Stannis. That has always been a grave failing of yours. Words are wind, brother. It is foolish to take them too much to heart.”

“Do not call me your brother! You almost killed my daughter.”

“Ah yes, your precious daughter. Who was it who saved her life? Who was it who told Cressen the name of the substance, so that he could prescribe her the cure?”

“Do you expect my gratitude? Even  _you_ could not be as stupid and lacking in sense as that.”

“I could have stayed silent. I could have said nothing.”

“I already knew, before you opened your mouth.”

“You  _suspected_. You did not _know_. And you certainly did not know what was used. She might not have died, of course – a grown man would not have died after all – but then again, she is only a child, and a sickly one at that.”

“She is not sickly! Not before you and your fellow schemers and conspirators made her ill. Which Tyrells, Renly? Margaery? Her father? Her mother? Her grandmother? All of them together?”

“This is getting  _very_  tedious, Stannis. You always were  _such_  a bore.”

“Or is it your precious Loras?”

“Leave him out of this! He has nothing to do with this.”

“Why should I take your word for it?”

“If you harm Loras in any way, I swear to all the gods old and new –“

“If he is guilty, then he must be punished.”

“He is not!”

“He will be questioned and examined, like the other Tyrells.”

“Too late, Stannis. You will find that all the rats have already deserted the sinking ship.”

“Not Loras. He was demanding to see you, just before I came here.”

“You will not touch one hair on his head, do you hear me?! You should be on your knees, thanking him. You owe your daughter’s life to Loras.”

“Why, exactly?”

“Because I told him a story about two brothers and a seagull, once. Loras reminded me of that story, when I was determined to keep my silence.”


End file.
